All Martyrdom Aside
by ItsumademoOtaku
Summary: It's been six months since the revolution the world has changed. She's always on his mind...always has been. Is it time to get more serious about this love thing? RoyxRizawhole series spoilers See Ch.1 for update info.
1. I The Altar of Pride

**_UPDATES_**_: **To all chapters**—new material, grammar corrections, rephrasings. Also, chapter titles. **Chapter 6&7**—Fixed a major plot hole between the fic and the series, and some following dialogue. **Chapter 18**—totally brand new. If you're here for the update, you're probably here for this._

_Also a quick reminder about reading literature: in a good piece of writing, every single word in a story should be important. If you spend some time thinking about phrasing, metaphor, imagery, theme, subtext and counter-text, as the author spends most of his/her life doing, the richness of the story will strike you in an amazing way _

_I'm in college—can you tell? This is just my advice—I hope you take it, because I put a TON of work into this. :-P_

_Itsumo-chan_

**All Martyrdom Aside**

**I "The Altar of Pride"**

Roy Mustang, former Colonel and Flame Alchemist, lay awake in a new bed unable to chase away the nagging fears of a past not far gone. This sleeplessness was not a new thing—ever since his battle with the homunculus Pride he'd been in horrible pain. Most of that was gone now, though sometimes the recent wounds would twinge and leave him gasping for air. He'd even gotten used to the eye patch and loss of depth perception, but over the last few months he'd grown his hair out and combed it down in front of his eyes. He didn't like the questions people asked him, or the way children stared. The memories of the affair were pain enough without rubbing in the salt.

It had been over six months since the revolution. The new government, while still having growing pains, had fully established itself over the country. Its first action had been to strike peace treaties with the surrounding nations, and organization of an international standards and ethics advisory board was under way. It seemed as though they had been doing well enough on its own, but he wondered how true that really was. Official elections had been held twice now, and the organization was still a mess. The public had immediately polarized around a number of predictable themes—the religious ones, the progressive ones, the economic ones—and there had been violent internal clashes more bloody than those during the original revolution.

Some politician who apparently still thought of him as somewhat of a hero had even offered him a job with the committee of internal affairs, but still sour of his dismissal from the military Roy had refused it. The man once so respected for his knowledge of alchemy, so expected to rise to the top in his adherence to leadership, had been reduced to some lowly advice-peddler, meeting power-hungry middlemen in dark restaurants and picking more than a few fights. He refused the ridiculous sums of money he was sometimes offered, intent on making an honest living. Naïve idealisms aside, _achieving_ an honest living was difficult.

And work…what a joke. Not that his colleagues were bad people. It was just that Roy had the reputation of being a tightass and he hated that—even though the unofficial title was as often as not meant with affection. Everyone liked him down at the production plant, so much that even the president of the company had taken a shine to him. He was a full-fledged shift manager now, and the position was so like being a company commander again. But sometimes the lenient, pliable structure of civilian work was more stressful to him than the busy routines of the military.

The military, military, military…it still dominated his life. Some days he thought it would be better just to have been a martyr, to pass up all this loss and give meaning to what he had done. There had been so much hatred in the public after the führer's assassination, and he'd borne the brunt of it. If he'd died, perhaps more people would have respected what he'd done. He knew that they had let him off easy, with a dishonorable discharge in place of the standard life/death sentence that supposedly accompanied the crime of conspiracy to commit, and action of committing the murder of a top military official.

He wondered occasionally if the compromise had been a plea not to testify with the damning evidence he had about the deception at Ishbal, and his knowledge the infiltration of the power structure by the homunculus and the power-hungry humans like that damned Archer. He hadn't given his testimony to anybody involved with the inquiries yet, but the same lobbyists begging for his assistance were organizing a formal inquiry of the military power structure. He had vague intentions to help them—he had nothing to lose since he couldn't be tried again for his crimes.

What occupied him most, though, had nothing to do with his wounds, politics, or even the military: Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye had been the messenger trapped inside his assassination plot, and summarily been accused of aiding and abetting. Although she had been a fine soldier, the new "uncorrupted" military could not afford to overlook her willingness to participate in a conspiracy of the highest order. The sacrifices they had both paid was the price of un-kinking the system, he had told her in way of comfort. She had broken the news of their collective dismissal calmly, but because she had been his first officer, and his closest friend, he had recognized the signs of her devastation. He knew she had made the military her life (and that it has possibly been all she had ever known), and that she had been having trouble rationalizing the loss of her "family" with the cause—_his_ cause—that she had believed so steadfastly in.

He hadn't seen Riza lately, ever since they had been evicted from military housing in Central. He'd heard from Maes Hughes' widow that she had found a position in East City with an accounting firm, as a personal assistant to some number-cruncher who didn't deserve to be named. Gracia, who had also come to Eastern, said that Riza asked after him constantly, always worried that he was working himself too hard, drinking too much, and probably concerned that he'd broken his promises to her as well. Roy often got the impression that the widow Hughes thought their situation ironic.

It _was_ ironic, and everyone involved knew it. But it was, awkward too. After the coup Riza had told him that he sounded bitter all the time, and that he had given up too easily on his dream of rising to power. By the time he was out of the hospital she'd stopped coming to see him, and that her last few visits had been brief and filled with tension. He'd been sarcastic to a degree that even he never achieved, and she'd been uncharacteristically snappy. He knew now that she had been afraid of the sudden change, just as he had been unsure of how to deal with her constant want not to be lonely, to cling to the shreds of the life she'd been so casually waved away from. Perhaps Gracia didn't suspect that they had really needed the space, though by some not-so-coincidence they had still ended up back in Eastern together.

Riza had been right, though, about his bitterness. Roy was much angrier about his dismissal than he would admit. The military had stolen his life, his happiness, and his youth. Though he was still only thirty he felt like an old man, ached like one. He'd lost his best friend in a murder that, instead of being investigated, had caused Maes to receive a promotion that the man wouldn't have wanted. The military so brazenly declaring the matter closed had been the last straw.

He needed a drink more than ever…but at first because of the pain medications and later for less definable reasons, he'd stopped having them altogether. Certain things only became clear through the bottom of a bottle, but he'd stopped wanting to see them in such demoralizing focus. Maybe that was why things had fallen apart—in making himself blind, he'd unintelligently shut out everything's imperfections. He'd been such a hypocrite, after saying that those flaws were what made the world beautiful. He'd meant it back then, but had forgotten when the starkness of reality had begun to beat him down.

His arms felt so empty, without Riza to hold. He wanted to look into those pretty brown eyes and ask if the world was really so terrible and if he'd been a fool to think so, wanted the honesty she offered so readily. He knew it was time to climb up onto the sacrificial altar of his pride and tear out these bad thoughts, but the knowledge of need was a small part of finding the courage to do it. He'd lost it along with so many other things, and it was so terribly hard to find again. Still, he knew that there was someone there who could help him find it again, and asking for it was just as much an issue of tearing out that self-righteousness too. It was the only thing of any value he had left, something God was demanding on his own time.

The night drew on, the fog of late fall rolling slowly over the dim streets, blanketing the world and muffling a silent cry that might have gone up as it had for the last months unnoticed. Roy tossed and turned, kicking at his blankets, thoroughly unable to rest.


	2. II Signed, Mr Horse

**II "Signed, Mr. Horse"**

"I remember standing over you like this once before, Roy Mustang, and asking if you needed to talk."

He'd been thinking about that too, waiting for her at the counter with a half-downed drink in his hand. The Riza standing next to him at the company bar at the base near Ishbal had been of low rank and far back from the front lines, still unaware of what had gone down that day seven years ago, still a stranger to him. Her voice was exactly the same, though; stern and slightly patronizing and filled with thinly veiled concern. He couldn't help but smile in seeing how little she'd really changed. She had been his anchor all these years.

She had her hands planted on her hips, but her solid brown eyes were soft with emotion. "How much have you had to drink, that you couldn't wait until I'd found someone who could interpret your directions?"

"I didn't send it in another language!" His voice felt heavy, but it couldn't have been the alcohol.

"'Meet me at my dive, signed Mr. Horse,' isn't exactly what I would categorize as an easy-to-understand message." But she hadn't asked how he'd found her address. "Marked 'urgent,' no less—as if you needed to make me panic even more! How many drinks does it take you to find the nerve to send that kind of note?"

"You really have a bone to pick with me this time, don't you? More'n usual, anyway." Roy wanted to laugh, even knowing it would have been a bad choice. Instead, he unceremoniously downed the rest of his first whiskey. He never would have had the courage to send for her if he'd been drunk already, but he'd figured he'd best get it over with. Time to go back to those old habits.

"I've been worried. I know Gracia's said so to you." Her admitting it was something new though.

He smirked just a little and pulled himself just a tad unsteadily onto his feet. "I've been worried about me, too. Let's stop attracting attention and get a booth, huh?"

It was all so familiar still. The first time they'd met, they'd both had a lot more to drink. Maybe Riza's young, under-the-influence mind had opened her to his musings, but Roy's testimony had been sobering enough to warrant it. He'd never quite understood why she'd sympathized so much with him as opposed to any other man drowning himself in a bottle that night…but he'd never quite been sure about why he'd let himself go in front of her, either. He'd been baffled by her undying devotion, her acceptance of his blasphemous plans, but her support had been welcome and her company a certain unadulterated comfort.

Even now, it seemed she'd never stopped believing in him. She listened without a word as he vented, as he acknowledged what a jerk he'd been, how by trying to be the Sober Citizen just wasn't working. She'd always been a pro listener, accepting things not important or painful or merely irrelevant without a second thought. She never pried unless her intuition told her to, and her intuition had a knack for being quite sympathetic. He trusted her judgment so completely because of incidents like these.

Two rounds later Roy ran out of things to complain about, and both of them stared in silence at the cracked wooden table. The Plunge bar was a dumpy place, even worse than the holes his company had frequented, but that was why he liked it. It could be guaranteed that there would be someone who looked as though their problems were worse.

"Now that you're willing to admit all this to me, it's obvious you've already resolved your conflicts," she said, but not unkindly. "This stress you say has to do with my absence…well, here I am, and now that you've confessed everything you feel better. Right?"

"See, that's why I asked you here. You know me better than I do." She laughed just a little, and he encouraged her. "I've missed that face of yours, especially those rare smiles."

"Have you? I was beginning to think I'd completely lost the chance of trying to reconcile—"

"Water under the bridge," he insisted. "Were you really thinking of giving up just because we were both trying not to fall apart in front of each other?"

"You seem to have it all back together now," she said dryly.

"Do you?"

"Trying like hell, sir," she admitted with another slightly embarrassed smile. "It's hard when you feel you can't talk to the only person that's still around for you."

"I'm not 'sir' anymore, you know." He knew she did. The reference to his rank had been a bit too forced, though she hesitated to call him by his name as well. "And what about that pup? He doesn't care about your change in occupation, does he?"

This time, a laugh. "No, I don't think so. He knows my hours are different though, and he's been crawling up onto my bed and waking me up long before my alarm."

"Whatever happened to your military discipline tactic?"

"Dogs are a bit too smart to follow it. I found that out pretty quickly."

Roy realized after few more topics that he was already learning new things about her. The Lieutenant had been one of those people who could sneak in very close to you without actually sharing much. Though he'd never _known_ until tonight that's she'd been a military adoptee, it was just that he'd guessed it through the way she behaved …just like he had known she felt she'd lost everything after the takeover, and he had been too wrapped up in his pitiful self to try to fight her thick exterior walls.

He hadn't seen so many drinks in her since Ishbal. She usually didn't join the boys after work at the bar, and nobody had given it much of a second thought. Roy wasn't sure now how much of Riza's talkativeness was scotch and soda versus her happiness to be seeing him again, but it was a welcome distraction. If he could see over the wall it was because it had finally fallen down.

"Would the two of you like another round?" the server asked, and Riza waved her hand. "I don't think I'd make it home tonight."

"Some coffee, then?"

"Make it tea."

"Sorry ma'am, we don't have tea. Don't get many requests for it."

"Coffee's fine, then."

"Creamer or sugar?"

"No." Of course—no fluff for Riza Hawkeye. She'd never liked fluff, thought it unnecessary. And yet she still managed to surprise him, how somewhere through the cracks of that self-discipline could be seen a soft underlayer, something so sensitive that she found it necessary to conceal. How much of that softness had been his doing?

Feeling pressured, Roy had accepted a cup too instead of another whiskey—it was just as black and terrible as he'd expected. Already Riza was taking care of him again, yanking the bottle away when she felt he'd had enough…just as she used to lock his office door when it had grown too late and brought him meals and run thousands of little errands. Although those chores weren't specified in her job description, Roy knew they had soon become part of the routine for her—it was probably why she'd requested assignment as his assistant all those years ago. She did it silently, too, never questioning or accusing or confronting him. She was too smart to think he would do things differently just because it was her advice.

"It looks warm out," Riza said, hefting on her heavy coat as they were getting ready to head out. It was better than a uniform, though—he could still tell there was a female under it. "The fog hasn't even descended yet and it has to be past one in the morning."

"One twenty-two," said the barman helpfully. "You hear that, you lot? We're closing soon!"

Roy held the door open as they left, though it seemed more as though the door was holding him _up_. _Damn_, he thought, _I must be getting old to lose out to my favorite malt before the sun has even risen_. "I'll walk you back," he insisted. "This's no place to be at this time of night."

"I'd appreciate that." Yet another surprise. She asked for help very rarely, and usually didn't appreciate it at all. She always had to be the tough girl in the boys' club, independent and distant. Had the logic node of his brain been functioning properly, Roy might have realized that tough or not, without her guns Riza was easily a victim. He'd forgotten after so many years around strong women that they weren't any more vulnerable than the other kind.

They'd wound perhaps a mile through Eastern's dusty streets before the first tendrils of fog reached down for them. Riza unconsciously drew closer to him, complaining vaguely about the low visibility, her sharp eyes darting from streetlamp to alley to doorway. Even with so many drinks under her belt she was cautious.

She lived in a villas-style apartment on 42nd, not too far from the accounting firm where Gracia had said she worked. She stopped at the bottom of the staircase, seeming as though she wanted to say something. When she remained silent, Roy tried. "So this is it, huh?"

She nodded and gave up whatever was on the tip of her tongue. Instead she threw her arms around his neck. Surprised and destabilized, he hugged her back.

"This is not an appropriate show of respect, Lieutenant."

She laughed again, held him for another wonderful moment before she let him go. The faint, familiar smell of her perfume lingered in the air between them. "I'm not a Lieutenant anymore."

There was the faint noise of the wind against the buildings as they both tried to search for something un-awkward to say.

"Are we going to do this again?" Riza asked, looking toward her door as if reading a cue on it.

Roy produced and pen and grabbed her hand. "Now don't lose this," he said, "Sensitive information. I'm entrusting it to you."

She curled her fingers around the fresh ink marks and disappeared up into the fog.


	3. III Where We Last Left Off

**III "Where We Last Left Off"**

"You've lost some weight, right?" Why did things like this always come out sounding as though he was some kind of stalker? He couldn't help but notice her body—it kind of came with the description "male." Walking slightly behind her, he could tell she was still a big fan of running. She had the legs for it.

Riza raised a thin blonde eyebrow. "I've dropped some muscle. I don't have time to work out anymore since the facilities aren't provided and I have to pay my own bills and my employer seems to think it's unbecoming of a woman to be tough. That's something you have to worry about on the outside."

"What, like _I_ don't have to worry about my job?"

"You don't have to worry about your boss thinking you're too masculine and shouldn't be paraded about in an assistant's position."

"Whereas before you had to worry about your boss thinking you were too feminine?" "I seriously never believed you gave it a second thought." That was a lie. She had sometimes _deliberately_ provoked him. So she wanted to play that game? Fine.

"It's the first thought that counts."

"You always _were_ a pervert!"

Oops. He tabulated an approximate win score in his head: Riza two hundred twenty-seven, Roy four and a half. Riza always, _always_ won these, even if he was trying. It was probably something that came with the definition of "female."

The conversation itself was just one of the aimless, meaningless, verbally abusive flirting marathons they tended to have these days. In this instance they were headed over to the Hughes' place for dinner, after insistence from Gracia that she finally get to talk to the both of them at the same time.

It was finally starting to get easier to visit, now that Roy had his willing personal shield back. He'd always felt strange coming to see the Hughes, as though he was trying to thwart the old wives' tales about former best friends and unorthodox "charity." His reputation as a stud might well have made him more sensitive, he knew, and it was stupid to dwell on _that_ what way when before Maes' death he'd been invited to dinner regularly. Gracia herself was a kind and responsible woman, as much a sister to Roy as Maes had been a brother.

Alicia, now 5 years old and growing like the weeds she was tumbling around in, spotted the two of them coming up the street and darted inside the house. She returned with her mother, still tow-headed and fragile-looking, in hand.

"We're early," Roy apologized, seeing that she looked a bit harried. "I hope that's not a problem."

"Of course not. I wasn't planning to have dinner ready until later anyway. Come in. Alicia, could you get the phone please?"

Somewhat reluctantly, her daughter went ahead to cut off the ringing noise.

"I wish sometimes Maes could see how much she's grown, but we can't even visit his grave since it's in Central. I don't think she understands much about why we left…but I still find it amazing how well children adapt. Better than I have, anyway." Gracia sighed.

"I think it's probably better to have your family close by," Riza said.

"That's why we moved again, after all. This is our third house in Eastern."

"Mama, it's some guy that says he wants to talk to you about papa's money." Alicia appeared in the sitting room and pointed back to the phone in the hallway. "I told him there were people over and he said I had to get you anyway."

Gracia muttered something probably unkind and excused herself.

"What's going on with the pension?" Roy asked, turning to Riza.

She shook her head. "I remember she said a few weeks ago that there was some kind of stipulationthat she'd never taken care of. The army was threatening under new rules to remove it or some of it…I can't remember which. I told her she should talk to Armstrong about it. He'd know what to do."

"Armstrong? Is he still—oof!" Roy grunted as a forgotten Alicia clambered up into his lap. The girl had a certain lack of knowledge of anatomy that at the moment was a bit frustrating. Riza quickly hid a smile behind her hand, probably thinking it was yet another illustration of that all-encompassing women's revenge.

"Uncle Roy, they're not going to kick us out of our house again, are they?" The girl stuck her face in the older man's, as if challenging him to give an answer she wouldn't like. She was, in fact, a lot like her father in that respect.

"If they tried I'd have a lot to say about it," he told her, maneuvering into a more comfortable position as subtly as possible. He began to rummage around in his pocket for something. "Girls like you need to have money and a house to grow up and go to school and be good people like their parents."

"And eat good too?"

"That, too." Roy pulled three or four sweets from his slacks and stuck them into Alicia's expectant fist. He gave Riza a wink, the effect of which was largely negated because of his patch. "Better go hide those before your mom finds them. And promise not to have any until after dinner?"

"No candy 'til after dinner," she repeated, threw him an amazingly precise salute and dashed off.

"What a way to win the heart of a child," Riza said, tone smacking with irony.

He shrugged, the new scar tissue in the left side of his chest pulling just a little. "I do a lot of things to keep myself in good favor here. The candy's just pocket change."

From the hall Gracia's voice was becoming higher in pitch, and louder too. Riza paused in the middle of a thought and looked to her companion. Roy nodded and got up.

Gracia was trying hard, she really was. Her husband had been the army man, though, and she just as plainly couldn't handle military tactics. She was stammering and unable to make a coherent argument. Roy put a hand on her shoulder and took the earpiece.

"Who is this?"

"Who am I?" the man at the other end said incredulously. "Who are _you_?"

He settled for the title of Ms. Hughes' Legal Representation.

"I can't be handing policy-sensitive information out to non-military-affiliated parties," the man said, probably reading it from a script. "You'll have to file with the public relations office."

"You _are_ the public relations office you bastard! I want to know why this woman is being denied her dead husband's pension and why I, as a guest in her house, must be denied her company for it!"

"I'm sorry—"

"Who's your superior?"

"I can't—"

The trick was to baffle kids like this into stupidity by not letting their nice little thoughts connect how they had been molded to. He knew exactly who liked to craft his underlings like this, too. "It's Harris, isn't it? He's the only one with the nerve to pull this kind of trick, using scare tactics on this poor woman. Get yourself out of your comfy desk chair and tell the General he's got a phone call from Roy Mustang and if he doesn't accept it he's going to have more trouble than he ever _dreamed _I could cause."

There was the noise of this very urgently happening. General Harris's scratchy voice came through on the line, sounding skeptical. "Is it really?"

"Nice to know I've still got a voice in the military after all," Roy said, putting as much smugness into his tone as he could possibly afford. He was going to give back whatever he got to these people. He was capable enough. Alicia's face appeared around the corner and he realized that this conversation was rapidly becoming theater.

"Did I mean to imply that, _Mister_ Mustang?"

Oh no, he wasn't going to let that get to him this time. "I'll make this brief, because you know I'm quite capable of turning this into a satisfyingly huge issue: You and I know that the military's had financial troubles. We understand that budget cuts are necessary for survival. But you and I are both aware that a brigadier general's pension is never, ever discontinued when his direct heirs are still alive. There are witnesses that can verify that Hughes died on duty, physical evidence that it was a wrongful death. There's even evidence that a homunculus was responsible, though I know nobody wants to hear that. The investigation is closed…but I'd be incredibly happy to argue legalities with you."

There was a moment of silence as Harris, slightly befuddled, gathered his thoughts. He responded exactly how Roy hoped he would. "I'm sure."

_Now_ they were getting somewhere.


	4. IV Subtle Reminders

**IV "Subtle Reminders"**

If Roy wasn't the victor of the evening, he was something very close to it. This was only one of several times he'd argued with the public relations office about Hughes' pension, but he'd never had to do it in front of the man's daughter before. It was a much different feeling, he later confided to Riza, having to look into that little girl's eyes and explain why the military didn't think her father had died a hero.

Gracia scrapped her plans for a light dessert and with Riza's reluctant help whipped up a towering masterpiece of white cake, candied fruit and at least an inch of frosting. (Alicia wrote "Yay Unkle Roy!" into the side when her mother wasn't looking.) Dinner waited, of course, but was well-received just the same.

"I have to say, I think this time you've really outdone yourself Gracia," he chuckled, waving away an offering for more.

"Let me send some home with you," she insisted, somehow still managing to move around and dig through her cabinets for unimportant dishware. "You can't have much very good to eat with no woman taking care of you."

"Takeout suits me fine."

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that. You seemed awfully eager to get here," Riza said, prodding his bulging stomach. He grunted and waved her away, too. He was, Riza thought, probably glad this was all the physical attention he was getting at the moment—Alicia had fallen asleep before anyone had felt even remotely ready for dessert.

"_You_ always used to think that it did, too," he reminded her.

"If it hadn't been for me, _you_ would have starved at your desk years ago," she said, and out of the corner of her eye saw Gracia shaking her head in amusement. Self-consciously she glared back at Roy for even bringing it up.

She knew it wouldn't stop him, though, and she'd continue to let herself be baited. Accusations in their conversations were turning more and more personal, now that no one was around to tease them about how it sounded. Gracia herself seemed pleased with the development. Riza didn't know what her late husband had speculated to her, but she had always suspected that Maes' "get married already!" critiques were more pointed than they had at first appeared.

"You've certainly been quiet," Roy said softly on the walk back. A package of leftovers was tucked under one arm, but the other one was unoccupied and as such reached up to squeeze her shoulder. "You're thinking too much again."

His warmth soaked through into her skin, dissolving just a bit of the tension she hadn't realized she'd been feeling. She gave him a sheepish smile, not knowing quite what to say.

He brushed loose locks of her hair away from her neck and slipped his arm around her shoulders. Chidingly, he said, "There's nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to deny. It's _okay_."

Maybe it was bothering her that there'd never been a spoken agreement about the whole affair. They had been seeing each other for more than a month, but she'd never had the nerve to call it "dating." She'd always had this fairly innocent notion about what a boyfriend was, and it was complicated now. It made her nervous.

Not that she wasn't enjoying herself. Roy…she couldn't imagine not feeling attracted to him. Something about his personality was freer now that he wasn't watching everyone, looking for spies and traitors and luckless middlemen. He had a good laugh, and she heard it now differently than before—more often, especially.

_You don't sign contracts to be someone's girlfriend, because that's stupid and unromantic._ The thought appeared as though it had always been there, hiding in a dresser drawer that she'd never stored much of anything in. She wasn't a romantic person; she knew it…but now she wanted to be and didn't quite know how.

She let him kiss her as they stood outside her door. It was easier to let him take the initiative; he was better at it. She was meant to follow, and that was all right. Wonderful, in fact.

"One last thing," she said, pausing in her doorway, Code Black Hyatt struggling to escape between her legs.

"Hrm?"

"That thing about the miniskirts…you weren't serious, right?"

"Well…It certainly would have made things livelier in _my_ office. They look good on you."

"You've never seen me in one!"

"I've seen you in other things, sweetheart, that were much skimpier."

"Oh, don't remind me," she groaned, and shut the door on him.

But really, it was kind of a compliment.


	5. V Anniversary

**V "Anniversary"**

"I was looking at my calendar yesterday and wondering if you remembered what day it is tomorrow?"

"When you killed Führer King Bradley, you mean?" Revolution Day was in a week, but that really wasn't the big one for them, was it? It hadn't been celebrated last year, since the government hadn't quite had the nerve to declare it a holiday yet. _My God, has it already been two years?_

"The day you saved my life, at any rate," he said. "The fair's just set up, and I thought it might be a good plan to beat the rush."

"Is this how you're going to apologize to me for being excessively busy all last month?"

"I have to keep my job if I'm going to keep taking you to nice restaurants and buying you expensive jewelry."

"Implying, of course, that there are more said purchases to be planned."

"I strive forward in the desperate hope I may someday be rewarded."

Riza had sat beside the phone for a long while after the arrangements had been finalized, picking apart Roy's words. He hadn't outright said anything resembling an implication that he wanted to spend the night with her, but he didn't have to. She knew he was frustrated at her reluctance, disappointed at the way she always pulled away at the last moment.

It didn't even really make her uncomfortable more than it made her feel as though the timing wasn't quite right…and now the timing was feeling much less wrong. Her ability to keep him at bay had always waxed and waned, and it seemed as if the time had come around again.

_So what should I do?_ she thought, staring blankly into the mirror. If this was going to be it, she felt as though she wanted to do something special. She wanted things to be different, less turn-of-the-moment this time. It shouldn't have to be something obvious, though. That wasn't like her.

Code Black Hyatt whined at her feet. He had become clingier lately, sensing that she wasn't around as much, that she spent time with Roy almost every day and came home smelling like his cologne. She had never been one to baby the little mutt, but she liked how he had become a wonderful rainy-day companion. She pulled him up into her lap and ran her fingers through his fur; he buried his nose in her stomach and fell asleep.

It was so easy with animals. They asked for what they needed and loved you no matter how much you gave them in return. For what was probably the hundred thousandth time she thought about how inaccurate the phrase "dog of the military" was.

It was shedding season—Black Hyatt's fur was coming off in her hands. Well, that was something she could take care of, at least. It was about time she waxed again. She'd gotten badly out of the habit of it.

She picked her dog up out of her lap. He opened one eye lazily, hanging in her arms, as if to ask why on earth she'd woken him up. "You don't mind if I'll be out tomorrow night, do you?"

He yawned and closed his eyes again. He probably hadn't understood a word she said.


	6. VI Excuses

_Yeah, so I finally realized that I had kind of a plot hole here. Filled in it, hope it dries ok…_

**VI "Excuses"**

"Oh my God…Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

Riza turned at the sound of her name. A woman with chin-length, dark brown hair and a very familiar mole had passed within inches of her. "L—Lieutenant Ross?"

She was in plainclothes, but still stood with that distinct military stance. Riza and Roy had both lost it some time ago, bit by bit. She smiled. "Lieutenant Colonel now, I'm afraid. Though I suppose you wouldn't have heard."

"No…I…congratulations." Just when it seemed like she'd finally severed her ties, something else had to come up in knots.

"I barely recognized you," Ross said. "My, you look different—and your hair has gotten so long! How've you been?"

"Oh, well, I guess. You?" Not that she was all that curious, but it _was_ the right thing to do to pretend. Riza unconsciously reached up to run her fingers through her hair, which she'd been wearing down lately.

"About as always. My company was just transferred back to Eastern Headquarters a month ago. They threw us into your old team after the revolution, so we're all here: Blotch, Farman, Breda, Fury, Havoc, Armstrong…"

_All of them?_

Her surprise must have showed, because Ross offered to buy her some coffee. "It's all right, I was going to get some anyway."

There was a café around the corner, and Riza obligingly accepted the offer. She wasn't supposed to meet Roy for another forty-five minutes anyway, and it wasn't as if she'd ever had anything against Maria. They'd even been roommates for a short time when they'd been at the academy together…but Maria tended to talk too much for Riza's taste.

"Doesn't it seem strange, all of us back together again?" the other woman asked when she learned that the widow Hughes and her daughter were also in Eastern. "Why here instead of Central, I wonder?"

"A change of pace, I'd hoped," Riza said. "I've bad memories of there…growing up, and later of the revolution. This place is smaller, closer to the outside. I can keep an eye on things without being in the thick of them. Why is your company here? Has there been talk of another uprising?"

She had shrugged and talked a little about current policies, said she hadn't heard anything about plans for war. She _had_ always had an ear to the ground, so it was some comfort that she had no knowledge of any rumors.

The topic wound down, and for the second time the Lieutenant Colonel caught Riza unawares. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but have you seen hide or hair of Colonel Mustang of late? He seems to have disappeared. A bit like you, in fact."

"We had a riff some time after the revolution," Riza answered. It wasn't a _total_ lie. "We've spoken since, but…we've both changed, we're both trying to move on. And I've got my own life now; friends, boyfriend, another paper-pusher's job…you know how it is."

"A boyfriend? Maybe being out of the military _has_ done you some good!"

Riza felt herself blushing. She had never liked being teased about her relationship with Roy. "What, you didn't figure I'd stay single forever?"

"Half the company still has a bet going on that you and the Colonel would get together," Ross said lightly, dismissing the claim with a wave. "How juvenile, huh?"

"I suppose everyone has to find some way to throw money away." But Riza had the distinct feeling that this conversation wasn't nearly as over as she currently wanted to be.

She was right. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she was bombarded with inquiries. "So what's he like? Is he handsome? How long have you been going out? This is your first long term relationship, isn't it? How serious is it?"

_If you only knew._She felt terrible about fudging facts, but there was no way around it if she was going to keep it from becoming clear that she was, in fact, three inches from the bedroom (as opposed to the handiest cot or desk) of her former commanding officer. This would all get back to the company, she knew, and was praying that none of them had run into Roy recently.

Eventually she glanced at the clock and, finding salvation, made to leave.

"You sure you don't want me to meet him?" Maria asked as she explained her excuse.

"Well, it _is_ my life," she said flippantly, hoping it didn't sound too flimsy.

"It is that," Maria replied, having picked up on Riza's message and deciding to leave it alone.

Relieved in no small measure to have gotten that conversation over with, Riza bounded out of the café. Roy was waiting for her by the entrance to the fairgrounds. She knew it was him even though her back was turned—nobody else had his highly unusual habit of wearing neatly-folded and starched shirts half-tucked in. She came up and threw her arms around him. "You'll never believe who I ran into a few minutes ago—"

"Ditto sweetheart," he answered, not sounding at all surprised. "Look who I found, wandering around companionless."

Havoc. Why the hell did it have to be Havoc? She'd know that slack-jawed face anywhere. Unnoticed, the man's hand-rolled cigarette dropped out of his mouth. "_Sweetheart?_ Now just _hold on_ a minute—"

"I heard from Ross you were in town," Riza said dryly, half-hiding her face behind Roy's shoulder.

He pried her off, laughing. "I don't suppose you told her what you were waiting around for, did you?"

"L—Lieutenant Hawkeye? Jesus, I hardly recognize you…" Havoc managed.

"Everyone says that," she answered woodenly, as Roy continued to chuckle and pulled her into his own tight, possessive hug. "Oh, stop it, will you?"

"You're so cute when you're embarrassed!"

"Stop, dammit!"

Havoc seemed to not to be able to gather his thoughts enough to do much besides stare. Eventually, after Riza managed to wrench herself away, he pulled another cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. "I thought you two had finally broken up."

"Broken up? We finally got _together_," Roy answered, rubbing his ribs where Riza had elbowed him.

"Oh, don't try that trick with me," Havoc said, gathering a little steam. "None of us ever believed that."

"What…don't tell me you're still mad about Katie?"

"Who?" Riza asked.

The two men looked at each other, as if trying to tell the other one to explain. Riza looked from one to the other suspiciously. Nothing ever went well when Roy didn't want to tell her a story.

"One of my girlfriends," Havoc said finally, looking about ready to run.

"And what happened?" Riza ignored him and prodded Roy with her shoe, narrowing her eyes. He grinned back, trying for as much innocence as he could muster.

"He helped her cheat on me!"

"Oh relax," Roy said quickly, as she felt her mouth drop open in an imitation of Havoc. "You're definition of 'cheat' is as soft as rotted fruit. _She's_ the one that gave me those theater tickets. I wouldn't have even gone if it weren't for that fact that she probably would have kept bugging me. So I went, told her I wasn't interested anymore. If she didn't come running back to you that's not my fault."

"That's beside the point."

"Why don't I remember this?" Riza asked, a little lost. Certainly no one had clued her in on this story before…although she was beginning to get the feeling that she had iffy jurisdiction in any case.

"I think you were sick." Roy dismissed her easily. "Or you had taken the day off, at least. I didn't think you'd mind, seeing as how we weren't actually, y'know, going out at the time."

"I've never understood you two," Havoc said dully, taking another long drag. "You were obviously together, but we had to work hard to catch you at it…and then when we did you'd make excuses and claim you had other commitments—"

"'At it?'" Riza made a face at him. "What, so you caught us pawing each other _once_—"

"And flirting _constantly_. It doesn't take timing with a camera to have evidence. Did you ever get those developed by the way? It's the least you could have done after you swiped my camera."

"Serves you right," Roy said back. In their minds, the 'swiping' had been justified. "And yes, they're in one of my albums."

"Do I ever get to see them?"

"No."

Riza remembered that particular album of Roy's, filled entirely with pictures of the two of them. It wasn't his biggest one, but it might be one day. She wondered sometimes when flipping through it why the photos were such precious memories…she certainly hadn't expected that they would be when they were taken. As Havoc had said, they always ended up making excuses for them.

"Which is why it confused the hell out of us that the Colonel even _tried_ to keep up appearances on the singles' scene," Havoc was saying, when Riza drifted back into the conversation. "We all had a bet going on over what you two were all about. We never really figured it out."

Roy grinned. "I'll explain if you promise to give me all the losers' cash—"

"Oh no you won't!" Riza wasn't going to let him talk about Ishval. Havoc hadn't been there. He wouldn't understand.

The younger man shook his head again, pulled his tobacco stick briefly from his mouth and blew a nicely-practiced smoke ring. "Guess it doesn't matter. I'd probably end up forking my share over to someone anyway. You two go have a nice _date_…I have to go meet Maggie."

"Who's that, your sister?" Roy snickered again, and Riza wanted to kick him. He could be such as ass some days…and she was feeling humiliated enough anyway.

"My girlfriend. Girlfriend! And you stay out of it!"

"Mutually!" Roy and Havoc were shouting at each other now, as Havoc was moving through the crowd, away from the ticket booth.

"That's _enough_," Riza told him, elbowing his sore spot again. "Why do you insist on doing this to me?"

"Because you look cute when you're embarrassed," he answered.

"And when I'm _not_ embarrassed?"

"You downright turn me on."

A clever ploy—she debated whether or not to play along. "Best that _that_ wait, then…"

Roy cautiously looped his arm around Riza's waist. She let him, and he settled down a little. She could tell through is touch that he wasn't thrilled about how meeting their old comrades had gone either. They'd agreed long ago to keep the affair quiet, move on from the odd way those years had passed. It was going to be harder to do that now. "Since we're back to the insults, I guess I'm forgiven?"

How could she possibly take advantage of his apology? That was a tough one. "You're paying admission."

"Fair enough. Fair. Get it?"

Riza groaned at his horrible pun, and felt Roy slip her wallet out of her back pocket. "I said _you're_ paying."

"I am."

"With your own money!"

"I'm broke."

How could he possibly be broke? "You've been working overtime for the last two straight months."

"Sounds fishy, don't it?"

"Any more surprises today, Roy, and I swear I'm going to kill you."

"I'd die a happy man."

"You're _still_ paying."


	7. VII Inception

**VII "Inception"**

Tim Marcoh, jacket slung over one broad shoulder, called to Riza by her rank. When she turned, curious, he jerked a thumb behind him in the direction of a distant country house. "Your friend is back here, having a bit of a difficult time. I thought I might tell you before he does something drastic."

"My friend?"

"That young pup, Mustang. I saw you two talking in the bar last night," the man said, pushing past her on the road out of camp. Later, she'd found out that she'd been the last to see him. He'd deserted. "He's had a whole bottle…I found him with his gun to his chin. He's a good kid, but I don't want him to hurt himself."

"I'll see to it. Thank you." Riza began calmly in the opposite direction. Once she was out of sight of the base proper, she ran.

He was sitting in an awkward way on the small house's wooden floor, not far from the bloodstains. He'd been going on about the injustice of his orders last night; she knew now he had been the one assigned to assassinate the Rockbell doctors. The shock had been all over camp this morning, along with speculations and outrage…but all that had been innocent in comparison to what Roy must have been feeling.

His gun lay braced against the floor, his finger still tense against the trigger. She kicked the threshold to make a sound (it would have been stupid to try and sneak up on him), and held up a hand as he turned his weapon on her. "It's all right, it's just me," she said softly.

He turned his eyes away. She had seen in a glance that they were red, that his pale face was streaked. She took a few steps forward and forced his shivering gun down.

"Let it go, Major."

"They ha' a daughter," he said. The words were barely recognizable. "Saw her photo. She couldn've been more'n eight years ol'. An' now, because'f _me_—"

"Let it go," she repeated, more forceful this time.

"I _won't_!" He struggled against her; his one arm against the whole of her weight. He was so much stronger than her that if he hadn't been sloshed she would have had no chance, but…

Their faces came close, and she could smell the pungent liquor on his breath. She forced him down to the floor with her body, mashed her face against his. He was so surprised that he lost his grip and she was able to pry his gun away.

"It's over, sir," she said, freeing one hand to stuff his weapon into her extra holster.

He stared up at her more surprised than angry, and didn't reply. Slowly, the tension faded away from him. He seemed as helpless and frightened as a child.

"I'm going to get off and take you back down to camp, all right?"

He nodded. When she removed herself, as promised, he didn't budge. "Let me…let me rest here."

"I'm keeping your gun."

"Have it." He waved a hand and clumsily rose back into a sitting position. Riza watched for a moment, softened, and went to help. He leaned gratefully against her, head heavy on her shoulder. How had he managed to point a gun at _anything_ in his condition?

In the silence, she thought about the poor man's predicament. She was just a foot soldier—she'd never had a specific order to kill, to maim and destroy as he and the other officers had. The only men she'd ever put down had been trying to do the same for her, and she'd felt grateful just to see the sun set every day. But Roy, he was an alchemist. He'd been ordered to Ishbal to destroy. She hadn't seen the destruction the alchemists were causing, but she'd heard from others in the front ranks about the horrors.

_I'm sure he never expected to be called in when he earned his qualification_, she thought. _Then again, none of us were prepared for this._

To tell the truth, she'd been angry about the deaths of the Rockbells too, this morning. She hadn't expressed herself as some had, but she was still infuriated. What had they ever done to deserve it? Certainly saving lives didn't warrant a death sentence, even if some of those they saved became enemies. Non-military people shouldn't have to choose sides.

He was crying again, in silent, hard sobs that wracked his entire body. Having been raised in the military, Riza'd been taught that to cry that way meant ridicule. She'd never seen anyone do it before Ishbal, and now she was feeling it, too. In an instinctive gesture she cradled his head, steadying it with one hand. His hair was slick with sweat and grease, gritty with sand—but so was hers. Water in the desert was strictly rationed, and no one in the company had been given shower privileges for at least a week. Her jacket's right shoulder was damp now, slightly cleaner than the rest of the fabric.

It'd be dirty again soon enough.

Eventually Roy fell asleep. It was late afternoon when he awoke and staggered outside to be sick. He accepted her canteen sheepishly, eyes still horribly bloodshot, and said, "Well, I feel a_ little_ better, at any rate."

"I'll take you to the medical tent."

"You do that and I'll get written up," he pointed out. "I'd much appreciate your discretion."

"Back to your bunk, then," she said, resigned. Despite his numerous attempts to persuade her otherwise, she liked him—even felt sorry for him. "You must not have slept at all last night."

"Can't remember."

The sun was very low in the sky when they limped back into camp. Everyone was in the mess tent, but Riza forwent dinner to sit with Roy a bit longer.

He was amused, watching her perched at his side through half-closed eyes. He lay still on his cot, jacket now slung some distance away on a handy chair. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I'm not sure," she answered. "I suppose I just don't like to see people hurt."

"This place must make you very unhappy."

"Find me someone who'd say otherwise about themselves and I'll throw a strip show," she said dryly, and immediately felt embarrassed for herself. Why had she said such a thing? It was so unlike her.

"I'd like that."

Maybe just a little longer, then, and she'd leave after he fell asleep. That was a gentile way to end things.

In the dark, she didn't notice for some time that he was brushing the backs of his fingers along her uniform, along the cuff at her wrist and the seam on her thigh. His eyes seemed more alert now, hungry. The strip show comment must have caught his interest.

_No,_ she told herself. _Now is not the time to be doing this._ The irony of her thoughts caught her though—it had been a very long time since she'd felt so immediately attracted to a man.

Roy pushed himself into a sitting position, the movement of the muscles beneath his undershirt catching her attention. They trembled in their tiredness, but he ignored her insistence that he lay back down.

"I have something I want to ask you," he said. His voice was much clearer than it had been a while ago. Was he trying to feign sobriety, now?

"What?" she said, nervous for what she knew was coming. Her intuition was positively screaming. The grin he was giving her was roguish, as if he thought he'd already won—but it made her heart flutter.

"Can I have a real one this time?"

"A real what?" But she knew what he meant. She half wanted to, just out of spite…but she never managed to be so aggressive.

He chuckled—it was a deep, rumbling, friendly sound—and leaned forward to kiss her. She let it come, and responded fully. His breath was sour and his jaw was rough with stubble, but they stung her raw senses like the desert sand.

_So much for self-control_, she admonished herself as she let him pull her onto the narrow bunk. She ended up staying for quite a while longer.


	8. VIII Every Day

**VIII "Every Day"**

"What's the matter with you? You've been acting weird all day," Roy accused, retracting his hand from her shoulder when she jumped. "First you can't stop being angry at me, and now you won't answer me—"

There was nothing to do but stammer an apology. "I—I guess I wasn't as prepared for running into our old colleagues as I thought I would be."

"You realize I was trying to give Havoc a hard time…I suppose I didn't accomplish that very well, did I?"

"It's ok…I suppose I'm used to it by now. Riza returned his half-hug, images of that night in the desert still flashing through her head. "Ross was so curious when I mentioned I was going out with 'some guy' that I've half expected her to follow us. The whole company's here now, and I guess I'm a bit nervous about that too."

"But they've just signed peace agreements—"

"I know."

He fell silent for a moment, suddenly worried, probably not about the same thing.

"I suppose the whole base will know about us now."

"I didn't—"

He laughed. "Since when does any of our former comrades not find out _everything_? I'm not thrilled either, to be honest. That day in Ishbal was bad enough as far as we were concerned."

"It's funny you mention that," Riza said, amused at the coincidence. "I've been thinking about it a lot today."

"I think about it every day."

She stopped. Nine years was a long time for a memory like Ishbal to fade. They'd been stupid, gotten caught…but even severe embarrassment didn't brand the brain.

He reached over her shoulder again, twisting some of her loose hair between his fingers. He'd always said he liked it better on her long; back then it'd been very short. "I knew I'd found someone worth keeping, even then."

"Liar. You were drunk."

"What's your point?" He snatched her waist before she could react and pulled her against him. Now people _were_ staring.

He was doing it deliberately, she knew, trying to turn her on out of guilt. He'd done it before; she suspected he enjoyed teasing her. She put her hand over his face and shoved him away, and he tried to bite her. She backhanded him lightly, admonishingly. "No biting. You haven't talked about it for years…now all of a sudden I'm supposed to believe you?"

"What was I supposed to do? Bring it up while I was doing paperwork? Harass you until you reported me and the whole charade unraveled like a poorly wrapped Christmas gift? I had enough trouble controlling myself _before_ you decided to petition for reassignment to Central."

"You're the one that requested I do it!"

"I thought you a valuable addition to my list of allies."

"I was that irresistible, was I?"

"Like I said. I'd had you once, and I'd have been all over you but for our situation. It doesn't mean I didn't appreciate you on other levels. Or that I don't appreciate you even more now."

_Damn him_, she thought. _I never win when he says things like that._ "Let's go to your place."

"My place? This is sudden. Are you sure?"

"It's closer."

He laughed again—it like so many things about him refused to become mundane. "I like your way of thinking."


	9. IX Commitment

**IX "Commitment"**

She shouldn't have stayed. She knew it, and did anyway.

Red light from the dying sun had streaked through the window in a certain way that convinced her, maybe, or perhaps through some private longing for a recently-dead relationship she'd instigated the whole thing. She'd reasoned to herself that everyone else would have been out for the rest of the evening—there was supposed to have been some kind of special show for the soldiers.

Neither of them had intended to _be_ the show.

It had been an accident that a couple of Roy's bunkmates had stumbled in. They had stammered and left quickly, not having seen Riza's face. It was no matter; Roy had gained a reputation as a womanizer (as it were) overnight. The reputation was one he'd taken to, particularly, and Riza had been forced to spend the next few days acting carefully aloof to her comrades. She did finally get away with some excuse no longer remembered. Exactly what was unimportant—_she_ knew what had transpired.

It was hard to act, though. She had gotten butterflies in her stomach every time she glimpsed Roy going to or from somewhere. Even exhausted and drunk _and_ slightly hung over he had been a better lover than she had ever known. As luck would have it, the next day they were told to begin packing up camp and Riza and Roy became busy with separate duties…but for those first few days it became impossible not to lapse into daydreams.

Roy sent a runner for her the day before the first caravans moved out, called her to his office tent. She'd met Maes for the first time there, nervously wondering if he knew her as the mystery blonde. The Major hand then commenced to explain why he'd chosen to meet with the two of them in private, while there was a lull in official business. He'd looked her straight in the eye (his were still red) and asked her if she'd hear his testimony yet again.

With Hughes' investigation department data, there had been a lot more to tell. She'd been horrified to learn of the planned deception that had led to Ishbal's downfall, that the instigation had been the _military's own fault_.

"I hear you're an excellent soldier," Roy had said. "I've spoken to your superiors and found you've been recommended with praise for a promotion to the officers' ranks. Hughes and I are in need of someone with your practical expertise with weapons, and the addition of some women's intuition would be welcome. More than that, I know we can trust you, and that you believe as we do: it's time for change."

"What can I do to help?" she'd asked.

"I'll be pushing for an administration position, myself. I'll need an assistant of distinction, who can support me and advise me. I imagine the battlefield has been hard on you, after all, and I'm sure no one would think twice if you requested a quieter position, away from the stress."

It was going to be hell, for a while, if she followed his "advice." She'd assured herself that he was no doubt a practical man; he'd have his hands full enough with bureaucrats and politics and paperwork. Besides, now that he'd thrown all those compliments and inside tidbits at her, how was she supposed to shrug him off? She'd resigned herself and thrown him her best salute. "I'll do what I can, Major."

"Excellent."


	10. X Afterglow

**X "Afterglow"**

"It's certainly been a while, hasn't it?" Roy mumbled into the top of her head.

She could hear his heart pounding clean through his breastbone, could feel his body trembling slightly against hers in the afterglow. She brushed her fingers along the scar on his chest. If _this_ one had been two inches to the right, he wouldn't have been lying next to her…He'd have been lying next to Maes instead.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked. His doctor had been concerned that his lung might never function correctly again. He'd never taken an invitation to go running with her in the mornings—was he body not up to it anymore?

"Only when I think about it," he replied, pulling away and rolling onto his back. "It healed much slower after you stopped coming to feed me things."

"A punishment for being rude to me, that was."

Riza propped herself up on an elbow. In the dim room she could just make out the details of his face, the marred flesh and empty socket of his left eye. It wasn't disgusting or ugly, particularly—the doctors had done a good job in that respect. The skin flap around it twitched as he blinked.

"If I stop thinking about them and recall everything I've gained in return, I forget I've lost anything at all," he said softly. "I still believe the world is beautiful."

"With one less eye to judge."

He smiled, lazily, raised a hand lovingly to her face. "It doesn't take more than one. Sometimes I think having two makes one overconfident, blind in a way. I'm grateful for every day I have—I carry reminders that these days are precious.

"I don't see how. I've never managed to believe that everything is special in its own way. Some things are, like this…but..."

"Oh, come now."

"There's a certain allowance given to all of us. I was never allowed the time to develop a sense for beauty," she said. "I see what I see. I don't usually take things for much other than face value. You know that."

"What the hell did you see in me that was so special, then?" he demanded incredulously.

"I'm still trying to figure that one out."

"Apparently so am I."

She shook her head as he made faces, out of things to say. What she would have given to be a good conversationalist, sometimes!

He caught her hand, tracing circles into the mattress, and smiled. "You're not thinking of rushing off on me this time? If anyone comes barging in on us I will have a civil suit to file."

"Threats, threats," she said. "Whatever happened to that evidence you were going to present to that committee that just wrapped up their investigation because they ran out of things to go on?"

"I didn't like the looks of them. I think that committee was fluff, something to tell me what I have is unimportant. I'll hold my silence as long as it suits me."

She thought briefly about making some stupid joke about his lack of clothing, but decided it wasn't very good and just sighed.

Roy reached up and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. The room had grown chilly in the spring weather, but he was warm. "You're still beautiful, you know."

What an odd thing to say, to hear said. "Am I?"

He laughed again, and his slick, long hair fell back into his face. It was so long that these days he had to pull about half of it back through a rubber band. It framed his face well, though, so she'd never bothered him about how sloppy it looked. "If you can't judge it, why question it?"

"Because I want to."

"Stubborn to the last," he said, lazy smile still fixed to his face. "Sometimes I think you push yourself so hard for meaning that you pass it by, because you're so convinced you can't see it…and as a result those amazing eyes are too focused to see the big picture."

"What big picture am I supposedly missing?"

He said nothing for a moment, hesitating as he rarely did, twisting smooth strands of her own hair between his fingers. She let him play, wondering…

"It's so hard to know your thoughts," he whispered. "But I want to be sure of what you would think…if I said it was about time we got married."

She shouldn't have been shocked, she thought. It was such an obvious thing, only a formality to their relationship. There was an unspoken assumption that _someday…_

_ But "someday" isn't tangible,_ she thought. _"Someday" isn't a promise…but it's all I've ever given him. He deserves more than that from me._

"You deliberately waited until I'd slept with you, didn't you?" she heard herself say. Her self-preservation instinct had unwittingly been triggered.

"Hey now, I wasn't even planning this," he argued back, too playing, but obviously disappointed at her need to joke. He settled back in carefully, innocently. "A day, a week, a month; I'd wait. I've waited. I just… want to move on from here. And I don't want to do it without you."

Riza put forth a massive effort to stop herself from doing further damage. It wasn't the time for petty accusations. Why, for that matter, did she always bother trying to keep life from happening? "Of course I'll marry you," she said, and fell back into his arms. Roy pulled the sheets over her bare shoulders and squeezed her waist, as if he'd never let go. This, here, was the one place she was best kept—and she welcomed the prospect.


	11. XI Roots

**XI "Roots"**

Roy awoke the next morning thinking he'd never be able to wipe his grin away. He lay awake for long moments watching Riza sleep, curled up next to him and buried in his blankets. He'd been seeing this part of her more, now. Hopefully for the rest of his life.

He would have spent all of Saturday morning happily dozing, but as luck would have it the phone rang. The voice on the other end made his face fall, and slowly contort into a shape he usually reserved just for emergencies. Everything had been going so perfectly, and now up popped up a new and nasty complication: "_Mom_?_"_

"Do I not sound like your mother?" the earpiece demanded.

He winced and held it a few inches away. "No, I mean—yes. I mean—Sorry, I wasn't expecting you to call, that's all."

"You've got a lot to explain for yourself, young man." Was she ever going to stop calling him that? "Do you have any idea how hard it was for your father and me to track you down?"

_Yes._ "Sorry."

"Well, you'd better come down to the train station right quick and retrieve us. This place is more of a mess than your situation."

Slightly panicked, Roy showered and threw some clean clothes on. He was halfway to the East City Station before he realized that he'd forgotten to leave Riza a note. "It's really about time I stopped being intimidated by my own parents," he berated himself, making a mental note to call her before he went hunting for them. Knowing his mother, she'd wandered off into some shop and called in the cavalry when she found she was lost.

It was, however, in searching (fruitlessly) for a free phone that he ran into them. They'd been waiting around the platform where they'd arrived, now a good hour and a half ago, expecting to see a man in uniform. It must have been a shock. "Excuse me," he heard his father say, felt a hand on his elbow, the turned and the taller man took a half-step back. "_Roy?_ What's happened to your face?"

He reached up, feeling gingerly at his eyepatch. All of a sudden the flesh underneath was sore. "It's a long story, dad."

"We'll have plenty of time to hear it, Charlie," his mother interrupted in her on-the-edge-of-reason alto, shoving past her husband. "I want to know—"

"You won't hear much of anything in this place," he told her, very not in the mood for a lecture. "The first thing to do is get out of here. Where are your bags?"

He didn't see them, but surely they hadn't come all this way without intending a long stay… "There was a mix-up when we changed trains in Xenotime," his father said. "They'll be on the five o'clock this evening."

"As reliable as Eastern stations always are, I see." Roy sighed. There was no point in trudging all the way back to his flat if they'd have to come back to retrieve suitcases. The line of people waiting for a public phone had not even moved. Surely no one's business was as urgent as his?

"It's a waste of effort to make your customers happy, if you want my opinion," his mother said, shrugging. "As long as they get where they're going they'll be fine."

Maybe he'd have a better chance at a diner nearby. "Have you eaten?"

"There was breakfast on the train, but they closed just before I got there," his father said. He looked hungry. "It must be nearly lunchtime now."

"I'll take you into town, then," he told them, and motioned.

The only café that wasn't jam-packed had a broken phone. It was difficult for Roy to keep his frustration from showing. If it had been on the menu, he would have ordered something with a valium additive. As it was, the waitress took his trench coat (Oh, last vestige of secrecy!) and returned with a somewhat apologetic-looking sandwich. You couldn't fight on an empty stomach—and although he didn't want to answer the inevitable questions about his personal life, he knew he had no choice.

"What brings you two to East City?" He asked before his mother could get a word in, and indiscreetly took a large chunk out his ham-and-swiss.

"We decided that it was about time for a vacation," his father answered over his coffee. "Last we heard, you were stationed at Eastern Headquarters…though now I've noticed 'stationed' might not be the best term."

"I resigned shortly after the revolution." He'd been transferred back to Central a good three years ago, but he hadn't spoken to them in much longer than that. _Count on mom's nosiness_.

"I'd been under the impression you would have welcomed the change to the government," she said.

"There were…complications."

"Of a violent kind, I see," his father put in.

He touched his eye patch again. It was so much a part of him now that he hardly thought about it. "I have other scars."

"And we heard about Maes."

"A lot's happened," he said quietly. "It's difficult sometimes just to survive."

"Aye."

Obligatory pleasantries over with, the two men lapsed into a companionable silence and let Aya Mustang chatter unheard about matters back home. It was boring as hell, but at least the mundane-ness filled time that might have otherwise been occupied by awkward questions. Roy mentioned that the fair was in town and they paid a visit, and at last the train came in from Xenotime and the heavy suitcases were delivered as promised.

"Where are you staying?" Roy asked, hefting his mother's bag with a grunt and hoping feverishly that it wasn't too far.

It was then that he learned it was customary for the visited relative to graciously host the visiting. No excuse about limited square footage would suffice. He grumbled to himself in leading the way, invited God to instill any kind of natural disaster so the road would be blocked or flooded or quarantined. It would be a trick explaining everything to Riza and his mother _at the same time_.

The lights were out, though, when they arrived; both a relief and a worry. The first thing he did was dash into the bedroom and pocket the contents of the bottom drawer. While he was trying to figure out where his parents would sleep (he was keeping his bed), his mother found a note.

"You've a message, Roy," she said, thrusting the pad under his nose. "I can't imagine who would have put it there."

It was Riza's handwriting: _Call me. _She was either very worried or very angry.

"Her, maybe," his father said, holding up Roy's wallet from where it had been deposited on the counter. He flipped through the half-dozen pictures it contained, only one of which framed anybody other than he and Riza. "Your assistant, wasn't she? It must be wonderful to still be so involved in your old job."

"She's retired too."

"It must have been quite a scandal."

"It's a nice bedtime story." Roy fought hard to keep from sneering. It was bad enough that they'd dragged him away from her this morning. His tolerance had been quite strained then, and it was unraveling now.

His father, slightly more adept at noticing his son's moods, closed the wallet and handed it back to him. "I suppose we should give you some time."

"Just…don't go rifling through all of my things, please," he said, cinching up the sash of his coat and heading for the door. "I have enough trouble picking up after myself."

"The phone's there," his mother said.

"I'll be back in a while," he replied, and left.


	12. XII Rivets

**XII "Rivets"**

Riza all but ran to the door when she heard the knock. She almost picked up the phone by mistake, she was so anxious for his call.

Her expression must have said more than she'd meant, because the first thing Roy did was wince. "Do I get a chance to apologize before you kick me out?"

"God, where have you _been_? I've been so worried…and you haven't called—you didn't leave a note—nowhere to be found—"

He snatched her hand as she waved it in front of his face. "I'm sorry, Riza. I got caught in something of an emergency and got flustered."

"An emergency on a Saturday?"

"If you let me in out of this rain I might be able to explain more thoroughly." He was soaked; he must have walked all the way to her apartment.

"It's raining?"

He scowled and stepped inside. His sudden inability to take a joke certainly hinted at his irritation. Now she was even more worried. "What's wrong, Roy?"

"This is going to sound really stupid," he warned, running his hands through his matted hair. Water droplets spattered against the freshly-cleaned wall, and ran in rivets down his coat and onto the floor. Black Hyatt, who had come to see what all the fuss was about, happily lapped at the rapidly growing puddle.

"If it's 'I was embarrassed' I _am_ going to kick you out."

"Oh, come now," he chided her, his expression lightening just a bit. "Why would I be embarrassed that you spent the night? I'm complimented."

"So what are you so upset about?"

"My parents are in town."

She blinked a few times, trying to decide whether to laugh or not. He scowled again. She finally decided on "All the way from Titasana? That's a bit far."

"I think you're missing the point: I've deliberately avoided contact with them for the last seven or eight years, but now they're here _just to see me_. They're probably through all my earthly possessions as we speak. I spent all afternoon trying to find a phone, but without letting on why I needed it. Do you have any idea how difficult that is?"

It was so unlike him to complain like this, about something so seemingly small. "What is it you have against them?"

He shrugged off his coat and flapped it against the door. The dog yelped at the noise and ran behind Riza. "I took some time off after Ishbal and went home, and we got into an argument. I tried to explain what I'd seen, how we'd killed all those poor people, how I'd been ordered to assassinate the Rockbells…the only answer I got was that I had done right. But I knew that wasn't true. I couldn't believe what my mother said, that the Ishbalites were evil and that they deserved to die. I told her she was wrong, but you don't say that kind of thing to my mother…so I left. I haven't been back since."

"You don't think that in a decade she may have changed her mind?"

"I considered it once or twice. But after spending the day with her I know she hasn't."

"And what about your father, are you going to stick all this on him too?"

"I like the man, but as unfortunate as it is he's an accessory."

Riza shook her head and hugged him, trying to hide an ironic grin in his shirt. It was so funny, how he could get worked into a fit over nothing and stay calm over huge emergencies. "Sometimes you really act like a child."

"Not like you can compare. I think you're lucky to not have family." Roy melted and returned the hug, and the grin. He was damp and sticky all over, but…

"Warm rain, huh?"

"As to be expected." He tapped her shoulder and pulled something out of his pocket. "I forgot to give this to you last night."

It was a small golden ring, a diamond mounted within the oval on its crest. She stared at it for a moment, and slipped it onto her left hand. "Is this what you've been working so much overtime for lately?"

"Could be. Don't you like it?"

"It's beautiful. How did you get my ring size? I don't have any I wear on this hand."

"Remember last time Gracia had us over for dinner, and Alicia wanted to play with her toy jewelry with you?"

"Why you _sneaky—_"

"All's fair in the name of love and war."

"Practically the same thing, to you."

"Honestly, would you want it either way?" Roy chuckled deeply, his troubles lessened if not forgotten. "Come stay with me again tonight. I need a distraction."

"I have work Monday," she said.

"So do I." He reached into the alcove by the door and produced a large black umbrella and an overcoat. "The mutt's welcome too, if you're concerned about leaving him."

"I think he's jealous of you."

"He should be."


	13. XIII Seeing Clearly

**XIII "Seeing Clearly"**

"Raining, is it? Oh—!"

Roy backed through the door, shaking out the umbrella to a minor degree of success. Riza stepped past him, pulled Black Hyatt out of her jacket and set him on the floor. The dog immediately ran over to the elder Mustang and sniffed at his slippered feet.

"It started just about the time I left," Roy said, giving up on the umbrella and setting it upside-down and open on the tile. "If you wouldn't call that irony I'd worry. Where's mom?"

"In the study, picking through your photo albums."  
"Wonderful."

"We can't help but be curious, you know," Charlie said defensively. He bent down with a grunt and scratched the dog's damp ears. "I daresay she would have gone through your dresser if I hadn't stopped her."

"Thank God for small favors. Could you go get her so we get these introductions over with?"

As soon as Roy's father disappeared into the other room, Riza stalked over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out the vodka and peppermint schnapps. "You look like you need one," she said simply at his questioning glance. "I might be inclined myself. Should I offer them something?"

"You've certainly made yourself at home," Aya's voice drifted through from the messy depths of Roy's study. Her tone was a bit harsh, but there was a definite hint of amusement within. Riza smiled back…but behind that smile was something frightening. Roy winced, knowing Riza's most common reactions to presumptive strangers.

Hence began the traditional naming and interview session, the impact of which was somewhat dampened by Riza's not-to-be-underestimated bartending skills. She really was good, Roy thought proudly.

"But mostly you live by yourself?" his mother asked, a little accusingly.

"It's just me and the dog," Riza answered, gesturing to the creature lodged possessively between her and Roy's legs. "After I was given the option of living outside the military dorms I decided I wanted privacy, and I've never had the urge to go looking for roommates since."

"So I imagine this is somewhat of a change."

"Oh, I'm not over here as much as you might think," she said lightly, lying through her teeth. "We both have our jobs, after all, and chores and bills and friends."

"I imagine after so long together you've learned how much time you both need apart," his father said, perhaps a little wistfully. Aya either didn't notice or chose to ignore him.

"That's the advantage of having been friends with him for many years." Roy silently applauded Riza's choice of words…there was a certain disregard for a timetable, yet enough to imply that his parents shouldn't have felt too badly abandoned that they'd heard no news. That ring was paying for itself.

"I saw that you're in a lot of Roy's photo albums," his mother put in. "When did you meet?"

_Ishbal_ would have been a bad answer. "It's been what, nine years or so? The alchemists were staying in my unit's camp for a few days, and we ended up talking at a meal. A few months later I was notified that I was being transferred to Central Headquarters. When I arrived I found that Roy had requested me for his company when he found I'd been reassigned. I'm not sure I've ever understood why."

"I needed one decent soldier in the lot," Roy said, not able to resist the urge to tease her. "I had done some reading on Riza's company and learned that she was set to become an officer. So I nabbed her."

"Isn't it wonderful, the way that system works sometimes?" Aya asked, probably not realizing the irony in the question.

Roy and Riza carefully ignored her. The subject turned to work, mundane but safe. That is, until she reached up and scratched her neck.

"That's a nice ring," Aya said. The comment was innocent enough, for as often as she had made them, and probably would have stayed that way if she hadn't done the mirror-math and realized which hand it was on. A little more accusingly, she added, "When did you get it?"

"Yesterday," Riza said, shrugging.

"May I see it?" Charlie reached forward across the coffee table, and Riza hesitated. "Oh, you don't have to take it off. Just give me your hand."

"My father's a jewler," Roy explained, and nudged her forward. If they were going to bring up the subject, he wasn't going to miss the opportunity to brag.

The older man turned it several angles, inspecting it closely through his glasses. "The band's welding is very smooth, and the color is telling me that it's twenty-four karat… the setting is interesting, kind of an eye shape, non-traditional but I'm sure it has meaning. It's mounted very well onto the band, too…Now that gem's a beauty—classic cut, and excellent clarity. Now that I'm looking closely it's even got a blue tint to it—lord knows those are hard to find!"

Riza's face was a portrait of dawning astonishment. She hadn't had much of a chance to look at her ring since he'd given it to her, and she'd probably never suspected it was quite so fancy. That's why he'd liked it—it reminded him of her, simple at first glance but beautiful and unique upon closer inspection.

"Well, the guy down at the shop gave me a discount. He said he apprenticed under you," Roy told his father, a bit embarrassed. Riza shot him a look that stated that she didn't think she was worth so much—but still was flattered.

"I'm sure he was happy to see you still remember what I taught you," Charlie said happily.

Aya, who had been very quiet, finally spoke again. "This is very recent news, isn't it?"

"I only proposed last night."

She sounded hurt, though less than she might have been. "Were your father and I even going to get an invitation?"

Roy started to deny that he'd ever thought about not telling them, but Riza dragged her hand away and put it over his mouth. "I would have insisted on it…but I know things have been intense. I don't claim to understand why; I don't think any of us do. But—_yes_ Roy—it's time for everyone to put their cards down on the table and sort this all out."

"It is why we came, even if one of us won't admit it," Roy's father said, thanking Riza with a glance. "It's certainly been hard to bring up since we learned what's happened…about Maes, about the revolution and your trial and the truth about Ishbal—yes, we've known for quite some time. We've been worried as much as any parents would be for their child, because we thought that you had no one to talk to."

"I have Riza." Roy pulled his arm a little tighter around her waist. She dropped her left hand over his, and squeezed back.

"And we're glad to have met her. It eases our concerns more than you can imagine."

They continued to talk as the drink wore off, as if only when Roy was older and tired of fighting could he understand why he was so important to them. He was their only child, but as much as he disagreed with them sometimes they knew not only who he was but who he had _been_. To maintain those memories he needed them as much as they did him.

It was almost two in the morning before Riza's head sank onto his shoulder. Seeing this father suggested gently that it was time to retire. That was far from the end of it, Roy knew, but at least they'd survived the night, and that was something.


	14. XIV And a Quarter

**XIV "And a Quarter"**

Orange light from the rising sun filtered gently through the curtains. It was still early Sunday, and quiet.

He sighed, running his fingers along the curve of her shoulder. "Four."

"Five."

"Five?"

"Christmas in Eastern."

"Of course that. What else?"

"Friday night counts for two."

"Five, then. Should be triple digits by now, you know."

"Shut up or it'll be six."

"Would I complain?"

"_Someone_ has to go make breakfast. And I don't want burnt toast."

"Fine, rain on my parade."

"That was last night."

"Oh, yeah."

He updated his mental scorecard: Riza, three thousand seven hundred and eight; Roy, eleven. And a quarter.


	15. XV The Meaning of Sacrifice

**XV "The Meaning of Sacrifice"**

Late summer marked a pause in the torrent of activity surrounding the wedding plans—enough of which, at least, for Roy and Riza to quietly sneak out of town for a couple of days.

Roy had business in Central City, since it was his turn to do the formalities with the mining company headquarters and their yearly contract renewals. But he had other, more private business to attend to first.

"Here, that's all of them," he said aloud to the cold granite tombstone, dropping a packet of letters and a bouquet of yellow roses over the dedication plate. It felt better for some reason to talk, as if Maes was still there listening.

"I remember standing with you in my apartment talking about forbidden alchemy," he continued slowly, fighting for words. "Seeing all those letters people wanted me to bring, I think if I was guaranteed a single chance where I wouldn't screw up, it'd be you I brought back. I can't believe it's been two years since I've come out here. You've missed so much, things I know you'd appreciate for their joy and irony and tragedy, and all those other little things you were always going on about. But I see things more now like you did than I used to."

He knelt down in the damp grass so he could be eye-to-eye with Maes' name. It felt odd to stand over him, when he'd always been the shorter man. "I'm never going to be führer—there's a publicly-elected body now and I think that's for the best—but it's taken me a long time to come to terms with it. I want to go to everyone and anyone with what you found about the fifth laboratory but I still feel it would be ignored, that the corruption still runs so deep that it'd take bigger boots than I've got to get across. I've just witnessed too much…I've killed too many men, Maes, to see more suffering and keep my wits about me. I think it's true when they say every time you kill you lose a part of yourself. My eye was a partial punishment; Riza would never agree to my face but I know she feels that, too.

A sharp, painful breath, and the soft noise of the cool breezes stirring the grass.

"Alicia's growing up. She's going to be a very pretty young lady in a few years. Some of those letters are from her. I know…I told her you'd be proud of that. I've been taking care of her and Gracia as well as I can. It helps that they're close by, and I guess I still fell as though I owe it to you. They're strong women, though, and I wonder how much of a difference I make sometimes.

"And speaking of strong women, I'm getting married soon. I finally found the right moment to ask, and she said yes as if there was no other answer. 'Of course I will—' just like that! Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to hear that? All these wishes about an ordinary life, a _family_…they're all coming true and right now all I can think of is how you won't be around to see it. I keep wanting this tombstone to be an illusion so I can go back home and ask you to be my best man. I don't suppose that's possible, but I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have there beside me, saying 'I told you so' as I'm trying to remember my vows. I did the same thing to you after all, hoping one day I'd hear you say it back."

He sighed again, and stared at nothing for a while. The day was overcast, but it wasn't raining. It hadn't been raining at the funeral, though he'd said it was. He knew now that was stupid to make excuses for crying over his friend. He'd lost the only person with whom he'd had a long and close history. They'd grown up in the same sleepy little village, joined the military together and never truly went their separate ways…even when Maes had failed at alchemy and given up on the prospect. Maes had kept him alive during dark days, had helped him find a reason to keep going.

His memory still was.

Riza, having finished running whatever errand she'd needed to run, joined him without a word, not wanting to disturb his thoughts. He leaned his head against her hip and smiled. "See, here she is, my friend. Isn't she beautiful? You were always trying to get me to admit it, and now I can't stop saying it."

"Do you need a little longer?" she asked, running her fingernails lightly through his hair, ruffling it.

"No…any longer and I'd start to rust, I think," he said, and stood. As if trying to be funny, his knees creaked. "I was just giving him the report, you know? He still outranks us both."

He could tell Riza was relieved, even inclined to accept the joke. She glanced down at the grave, back up to his face. "No tears this time?"

"It gets easier."

She took his arm and squeezed it. "Lunch, then?"

"Yeah."


	16. XVI Pirate Jokes

**XVI "Pirate Jokes"**

"Hey mister?" A small child was pulling on Roy's pant leg. He and Riza both looked down from their ice cream, and up again looking for a parent.

"Are you lost?" Roy handed his cone off and crouched down. The child couldn't have been more than four or five years old, yet he didn't seem particularly scared.

"Nope. But I wanna ask you something."

"Uh, ok…?"

"Are you a pirate?"

Roy was momentarily stunned. Behind him, Riza started to snicker. The only context they'd ever used that description in was a _very_ private one.

"Kevin, there you are!" A woman carrying several large sacks of shopping negotiated her way forward through the crowd. She gave the kid a light rap on top his skull. "What's gotten into you? I'm sorry to trouble you. He has this fascination with these pirate stories in the news, and I guess he must have followed you—"

After that somber half hour in the graveyard, though, Roy was feeling a bit carefree. Still crouched next to Kevin, he cupped his hands around the boy's ear and whispered.

The innocent round face lit up. "_Really?_"

"Roy!"

He grinned up at her. "What? Since you were laughing I thought I might at least explain."

"Mom, can girls be pirates too?"

His mother gave Roy a look halfway between amusement and exasperation. "I suppose they can."

"Only when they're kidnapped," Riza said, and dug into Roy's shin with the toe of her shoe. He knew she was blushing.

"Who're you calling a kidnapper?"

"Who're you calling a pirate?"

"And why wouldn't I know who's a pirate and who's not?"

Kevin giggled.

"For one thing it's harder to tell with one eye," Riza said, and looked up to the woman. "We should be apologizing to you. My _kidnapper_ here can also be a bit of a liar sometimes."

They both shared an expression often traded between women everywhere, and Kevin's mother sighed. "Well at least he didn't manage to kidnap this little boy and ship him off to some abandoned island."

"You wouldn't really do that?" Kevin asked.

Roy grinned. "I might. Guess that teaches you not to wander off, huh?"

"Sneaky," Riza complimented him after their encounter had passed, still amused at the little subtexts of the exchange.

He tore his candied cherry off its stem, rolled his eye and didn't reply.


	17. XVII Returning Home

**XVII "Returning Home"**

It was actually Riza who had the more difficult time in coming back to Central. She hadn't expected to, but one is rarely surprised by something anticipated.

Roy was in one of the numerous meetings that had been hastily requested when the various political powers had learned he was in Central, and so she had left to wander around the block. She'd never been down to this part of town, since it was poorer but peaceful. As she paced the streets, young children chasing between her ankles (followed inevitably by their flustered mothers), there was a sign in a shop window that caught her attention.

_135 years in ownership of the Hawkeye family. Thanks for the business!_

The first thing she thought was, _135 years is amazing for small facility like that_. The second: _Hawkeye?"_

She ducked in through the narrow doorway, triggering a jolly little bell, but there was no one at the front counter. There was a small picture on the far wall, behind racks and racks of secondhand clothing, of a blonde girl that looked to be about sixteen. It was quite old, faded and curling at the edges of its glass frame.

"Linzey?"

Riza turned, startled, to see that a woman in her mid-fifties had emerged from the back room.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I thought you were someone else. But you couldn't be even her ghost, I don't think…you're probably twice her age."

Riza looked down at the dedication plate. It read, _In__ loving memory of Linzey. Wrongs done will never be forgotten_. "I've never heard of this shop before," she said.

"Small advertising keeps the costs down," the woman said, chuckling. "Can I do something for you?"  
"No, I'm sorry…the name in the window caught my attention. My name is Hawkeye, too."

The woman's smile faded, and she muttered something softly to herself. To Riza's curious expression, she asked, "What's your name?"

"I—Riza," she said. Something didn't feel right.

The other shook her head. "So it is…how odd. Would you like some tea?"

So it was, indeed. Riza sipped at some kind of homemade brew as the woman, whose name was Ariel, explained herself. Her words seemed almost anticipated, pre-planned. "That girl, my sister of so many years ago, she was your mother. She died after you were born, and I was still young with our parents' business on my hands; I suppose I had trouble looking at you and not feeling angry and sad. I gave you a name, at least, before I gave you up. But I didn't know…we'd never figured out who your father was, there'd been five men and Linzey hadn't known their faces. She'd been a frightened child already fragile. I think you were her final stumbling block, as terrible as that is to tell someone."

Riza knew it wasn't her fault, but upon hearing those words she did feel an irrevocable guilt. She'd always imagined herself as the result of some tragedy, but it had always been a kind of frantic sadism, not a real wish. "Was I…given away directly to the military, or did they pull me out of an orphanage?"

"They must have taken you later. My father would never have forgiven me if I'd given them a child so young. He hated the military because of the wars he fought with them." Ariel shook her silver head again. "I did consider it at one point; I knew that the program was better funded than the common orphanages. In retrospect it didn't make much of a difference. Was it a difficult place to be?"

"Growing up under a strict regime is easier than going into one after a period of rebelliousness," Riza answered. It had never seemed difficult to her, but— "I've learned since about the childhood I missed, but when you're growing up and you don't know, you can't feel without."

"I keep feeling as though I should apologize," Ariel said, now for the second time. "I hoped then that I'd never have to explain about everything that happened, but I suppose as adults we all see things in a much more practical manner. I at least hope the world hasn't treated you too badly."

"Overall, I would say I've done all right. It's…it's been an adventure."

They sat together around the little wooden laundry table, sipping more tea, calming their nerves. Riza's mind was swimming with things not quite emotion, but not quite thought. What _was_ she supposed to say, to think, to do? This wasn't the way an adoptee was supposed to meet their family for the first time, not by chance and surprise. She hadn't learned much useful, either.

The bell on the door jangled, and Ariel got up to tend to a customer. Before she'd reached the curtain, though, Riza heard Roy's voice calling her name.

"What's the matter?" He asked immediately when she fled for his arms. _This_ was the life she wanted, away from all those past mysteries and tragedies and guilt. In school she'd always hated history, and she'd never managed to change her mind about it.

Someone tapped her arm with a piece of warm ceramic. Ariel had refilled her tea, was offering it as if in some small way seeking forgiveness.

"Riza, what's going on?" Roy asked, a rope pulling her insistently away from the drowning depths.

"I can't…" what was she supposed to say? It was all so confused in her thoughts, images and feelings that couldn't be expressed within one another.

Ariel tapped her with the mug again, more insistently. "I think perhaps we should all sit down."

It grew easier, hearing the facts repeated, knowing that at least they weren't some terrible lie. Having Roy's unspoken sympathies made it less painful, somehow, and she drifted back in her memory to all those times when he'd needed _her_. The realization of this mutual dependence had happened before, but not nearly like this, not when she herself had been the one at the bad end.

It was no wonder she was marrying him, she thought after he'd taken her back to the hotel, still weak and shaken. He knew her so well that there was nothing he had to say about it—and that was a kind of comfort.


	18. XVIII Written on the Body

_Yes, this is the new chapter. It was going to be a separate fic, but I got bored._

**XVIII "****Written on the Body"**

Maes Hughes slammed his hands down on the desk of the Lieutenant Colonel with a somewhat disconcerting bang. A tall, unsteady paperclip organizer tipped and began to fall, but went straight into Riza's deft hands.

"Yes, Major?" Roy asked mildly, glancing up from a seemingly fathomless mound of papers. Riza, balancing her own (slightly less fathomless) stack on top of her long legs (crossed), tipped the organizer back onto the desk and dumped the paperclips back inside.

"It's nearly seven—what are you two still _doing_ here?" Maes demanded incredulously.

"Reviewing the company's budget," Roy answered.

"Updating personnel files," Riza added.

"Signing off pay requests."

"Reporting to the assessment committee."

"Trying to figure out how to justify all these miscellaneous expenses."

"Trying to fudge over recent conduct lapses—"

"Okay, okay, that's about enough of that," Hughes grumbled, removing one big, clumsy palm and putting it over his eyes. "You two both amaze and appall me. Does either of you ever even manage to find enough time to _sleep_?"

"I don't have a baby at home crying through half the night," Roy pointed out calmly, shook his pen to restore ink flow and went back to scribbling furiously over a scratch pad. He always did the math, being the alchemist—Riza hated math. "That's your own fault."

He still didn't sleep all that much, Riza knew. She did; she knew she had to discipline herself, that she would not be a competent bodyguard at all if she was always bleary-eyed.

"You'd also have an excuse to go home earlier," Maes muttered. Then he laughed. "I just came back by because I forgot to bring home one of my books and saw the light was still on in here…after all the rumors that have been going around lately I half expected to barge in on something more than business—"

"You can stop anytime and I'd be fine with that," Roy said dismissively, not even fazed. Riza quickly directed her attention back to the manila folders in her lap, hoping to God that she wasn't blushing.

Not that it was particularly warranted. Roy was just a whole lot better at dealing with the teasing than she was. It was so difficult being a woman in the military, even more so being a subordinate to a supposed womanizer—especially when the only reason he _acted_ like a womanizer was to irritate her. Maes had been friends with Roy much too long to overlook that fact, and he thought it was amusing as all hell.

Office flirting, they called it. The fact that Riza allowed herself to be susceptible to it was an extra blow to her ego…but despite her moments of degradation she adored Roy as much as he did her. She understood what she was working for and thought it was a noble goal. It was _why_ she decided to remain here on late nights, at his side, glossing over Hughes' frequent absences and schedule discrepancies.

"At least go get something to eat," Maes pleaded. "The both of you are far too skinny. Come on, I'll even make it my treat this time. I'm gonna go get my book, and when I come back I'm expecting you to be closing up shop."

As promised, he stalked out. Riza re-balanced her stack of papers, and Roy chuckled.

"What?"

_Click_. His pen slid into its stand, and he pushed back his chair. "Come on, Lieutenant. Free _food_. Not accepting would be breaking one of the two laws of casual soldiering."

"What?"

He held up two fingers, protruding from the sleeve of his familiar black coat. "Law two: never ignore an offer for aforesaid free food."

"Accepting would be ignoring law one of _professional _soldiering," she said stiffly, not sure herself whether or not she was joking. "Law one: do your work."

"I've never been good at obeying law one," he replied, and shrugged on the other half of his coat. "Come on, Riza, you must be starving. Neither of us had lunch. And I'm sure you don't want me to leave you here all alone…"

Riza sighed, and after a second hesitation moved her mass of papers into a separate pile, on the other side of his number scribbles. It looked as if he'd been working on all of it—she'd grown adept at imitating his neat, angular handwriting. "What's the other law one?"

"Don't piss off your comrades." He held her coat out invitingly.

"Don't think you had much of a choice in the matter, in this case, then," she retorted, as if that would make up for the fact that she was once again accepting his victory. She wasn't going to be able to keep this charade up forever, she knew. As much as she just wanted to surrender to it, she knew the ramifications that suddenly delving into pleasuresome adventures would have on their work, and that couldn't be afforded. Roy had ambitious goals, none of which incorporated much of a sex life.

Sunk a little within her musings, she didn't catch his actions in time. Roy laughed as she stiffened in his arms, buried his nose in her slicked-back hair. He did this sometimes, making physical contact in some obvious but innocent way. He needed the affirmation once and a while—he was a much more physical person than she. Not that she didn't enjoy it—it helped her remember those cold nights they used to spend together in his tiny apartment, when she'd wanted away from her roommate, to be with someone who didn't have to _talk_ all the time. His narrow shoulders, still wider than hers, fell around her neck at just the right height.

"If only," she admonished him gently, and pulled away. She could hear Maes' footsteps coming down the hall.

Well _one_ of you two has sense at least," Maes said, looking to Riza in thanks. She raised her eyebrows.

"Hey, _she's_ the workaholic," Roy protested, waving his hand. "I thought you knew me better than that, _buddy_."

"I only grew up with you," Maes said wryly. "I was kidding. It's just fun to watch Riza blush."

"I am not!"

"You are now."

_Dammit_ she thought, felt her face grow even redder. Why did Roy always insist on working her into a guilt trip right when there was someone around to catch her in the midst of it? It got especially bad with Maes—he was the only one who knew what had gone on between them in Ishval, who truly knew how madly attracted to each other they still were, and how much restraint it took not to have a repeat of that incident.

Yet she was glad if it had to be someone, it was Maes. He understood relationships better than most of their comrades, knew they came in many forms and with many different meanings. That didn't mean he didn't take the opportunity to tease them when it was available. His newly-arrived daughter had been an absolute _nightmare_ from that standpoint.

Maes brought them tiny little pasta place Riza had seen before but had never had the opportunity to try. By some not-so-coincidence she ended up being snugged up on the wall side of a bench, Roy beside her. It was both frustrating and satisfying, and the mix of emotions terrified her into silence. She enjoyed listening to the two men tell stories about their childhood, over her quietness. It made her feel as if she belonged with them.

Her own memories weren't nearly as exciting—life in the military's orphanage had been routinized, and she'd never been particularly good at forming ally groups ("friends"). She'd managed a few lovers, somewhere between there and the military academy and the battlefield. None had been particularly impressive, though Roy had been curious about them sometimes, jealous to an extent. Her last had been shortly before Ishval, but he'd been something not worth pursuing after she was transferred to the field. Especially not after she'd found Roy.

Odd, how she and Joel had been such active lovers but never committed, and now she and Roy were infinitely committed and nowhere near intimate (excepting the way their thighs pressed against each other on the narrow bench). How long could this very obvious tension go on without any sort of release?

"Of course by then, his mother's telling me that it wouldn't hurt if I stopped thinking about it, and I'm thinking, 'my leg is broken, and it'll bloody well hurt no matter what happens!'"

"But that's my mother for you. If she can't see it, it doesn't exist."

Riza joined in on the laugh, wondering if the parallel had been intentional. "What happened, Maes?"

"Oh, after some hesitation my mom sent me running into town for a doctor," Roy answered. "I got clever and decided I was going to get Maes' parents, too. I think that was the first fight I ever saw them have with mine. I wasn't allowed to be out of my mother's sight for two weeks after that, as if it was my fault—"

"You _were_ the one that drug me down into that canyon and insisted we try and _climb_ our way back out when we got lost."

"There's a difference between causation and consequence!"

Maes shrugged, his perpetual goal of riling up his friend having been attained again anyway.

"How old were the two of you when this happened?" Riza asked, curious now, trying to imagine the two men as boys; one would have been gangly and clumsy, his glasses taped together from all his roughhousing; the other, slender and round-faced with hair that didn't ever have a chance to lie flat. What a pair they must have made.

"Oh, about twelve I think. Was your grandmother still living with you, Roy?"

"If she had there would have been no way mom could have worked you into such a panic."

"Closer to about thirteen, then. Just about then was when you really started kicking into high gear about being small."

_Are you saying I'm so short that I need a ladder to reach the doorknob to your office?_ Riza found herself chuckling. "Ah, the truth comes out about your sympathies to the Elric brothers…"

"Hey, I got tall enough, didn't I?"

"Still shorter than me."

"Being taller than Riza is tall enough," Roy said, turning his nose up at Maes.

"By what, three inches?" she asked, joining in.

"You're plenty tall." Now he was whining, as if to ask why she was picking on him too. Maes seemed more than moderately amused, but at least he was keeping quiet about it. "Especially for a _girl_."

The debate went on well past when the bill was paid. The subject was still being brought up as they made their way back to the military barracks. That is, until Riza heard something out of place.

"Stop," she said quietly, holding up a hand and stepping in front of Roy.

"What is it?" he replied, in the same tone. Maes caught her eye and produced his little throwing knives.

Two figures materialized under the nearest streetlamp just as she clicked the safety catches off her two pistols. She didn't like the look of them at all—one was holding a long-barreled version of her own weapons. "Stop right there and explain what you're doing here on military property—"

"We snuck in," said one of the figures, with a high-pitched giggle. "We were looking for dogs to mess up…too bad you're out so late…"

There was no further warning. Riza saw the first man raise his gun, heard the first shot go off. By then she had already shoved Roy to the ground, and was taking aim. With a sound of wet impact her right shoulder jerked back. Instinctively, she raised her secondary weapon and squeezed the trigger three times. None of those missed.

The other man ignored his comrade and had come close around, but Maes found it easy enough to give him a good smack in the face. "I wouldn't move if I were you," he said conversationally, holding one of his knives under the man's chin. "The station doesn't like to handle bloody messes if they can avoid it."

This had been a clumsy assault—obviously they were drunk or had expected the three soldiers to be. Roy scrambled to his feet, tugging on his glove, and went to check the first assaulter for signs of life. He came back, shaking his head, and said, "Sometimes I wish you weren't so good a shot, Lieutenant…is something the matter?"

"It's okay," Riza said, pressing her hand to the bullet wound. Now that the adrenaline rush was fading, she could feel a sharp biting sensation in the tear. It wasn't bad, though—it had hit her above the collarbone and had gone clean through. If it had hit Roy things would have been more troublesome. "I'll be fine."

"Here, let me have a look." He beckoned her toward the street lamp, under the light.

"I'll be _fine_, Colonel. You need to call the guards and get this all straightened out."

"First things first, Riza," Maes said. "Let Roy take you to the medical center. I'll raise the guards."

"We need to be here as witnesses."

"Not if you're hurt."

"Just a flesh wound."

"Damn, why are you so _stubborn?_" Roy growled and made a grab. Riza tried to dodge, but he revised his target and took hold of her right arm.

The world fizzed out for a second, and came back accompanied by her sharp cry of pain.

"You're bleeding all over your uniform, Lieutenant."

"Take her to the base doctor, Roy," Maes said. "You can call in security from there. I'll catch up when I can. And if you could get word to Gracia so she doesn't worry..."

Roy nodded and started to drag her away. Riza gave up (again) and wrenched herself away, insistent that she was perfectly stable on her own two feet. The pain was getting worse, now that Roy had triggered it, but she wasn't nearly to the point of collapse. It wasn't that bad.

"It's my job to look after my subordinates, you know," he said, but gently. "You don't have to pretend you're so tough that you're invulnerable."

"It works most of the time," she replied, through clenched teeth.

Noticing the tightness in her voice, Roy stopped her. "Okay, that's it. If just to alleviate _my _concerns, can I see it?"

Riza sighed, but accommodated him. He took her coat and her uniform jacket carefully, seeing her wince as they scraped against her inflamed flesh. She couldn't see the wound, but she noted his reaction; he didn't seem particularly worried, but did produce a handkerchief from his pocket, hold it up to staunch the blood flowing thickly from the little round hole. That wasn't a pleasant sensation either, but she knew it made sense.

"You amaze me," he said, pressing his stout hands against both sides of her shoulder. "I'd be screaming like a baby over something like this."

"The one in my hip hurt worse."

"What does that have to do with anything? I was worried about you then too."

This would be another little scar, written on her body, the second one caused by a bullet. But there were others. Seeing his scars—the knife marks on the back of his hand, the burn on his shin from flying shrapnel…those stung worse than her own. Remembering those times she'd failed to get there in time distracted her as the doctor sewed her up, took down her statement. It kept her calm, somehow, to go over her memories and assure herself that there was nothing further she could have done.

Roy returned before the nurse was done cleaning her up, barged in without knocking. Riza hurriedly put her left arm over her chest, startled, thinking it was the doctor returning with the promised paperwork.

"Colonel, if I could ask that you wait outside," The nurse said stiffly, pointing to the half-open door.

"No, it's all right," Riza sighed. If they made him stay out he'd be pacing the halls, and that would be much more annoying than having him sit here and watch while the nurse scrubbed dried blood off her skin. "What is it?"

"Maes came by to see how you were doing. I kind of wish you'd been there to see his reaction when I conveyed Gracia's message."

"Oh?"

"It was something to the tune of you-are-in-_so_-much-trouble-right-now."

"Predictably." Riza allowed herself a small, mischievous smile. "Isn't it nice not to have a woman nagging you about every little aspect of your life?"

"What, you don't count?"

"Do I?"

"Who was the one again who wanted to stay late and _work_?"

"Who was the one again who got shot because we decided to wander around town late at night?"

"Hey, that's just causation versus consequence again," Roy said, throwing up his hands in self-defense. "It could have happened anyway."

"That about covers things," the nurse said, dropping her damp pink sponge into the nearby sink. "I'll see if I can't find something in the laundry for you, Lieutenant."

Riza thanked her, and settled down against the cold wall with a glare. Roy shrugged it off and came to sit beside her. "How are you doing? Rattled at all?"

"How many times have we been through this routine?" she countered. "Beyond being tired I'm fine."

"You still amaze me," he said, glancing over at the informative heart disease poster on the wall. "I guess if you want the truth, I'm a little shaken up myself. I don't think I ever realized before…but you'd die for me, wouldn't you?"

"I'd prefer it didn't come to that."

"Me too. But I suppose I've never understood what inspires that kind of loyalty in you. I'm such a small man. And really it's a small life, almost petty. Why do you admire it so much?"

If she had to answer she was glad for his choice of words, that he hadn't said "Why do you love me?" instead. She knew that was what he was thinking, but she wasn't ready to answer yet.

"Because you have so much more ambition than I," she said. "I don't think anyone with ambition leads a small life."

"But what do _you_ want?"

"You know, I don't really give it much thought." She watched him, not quite knowing how to respond. She felt gauche, sitting half-naked on a cold emergency room bed, wounded and prone, staring dumbly as her boss made no attempt to be modest about his presence. "Something too small to name, I suppose."

"You look a little cold," he said, after another lapse into silence, another long stare around the room, at her. He unfolded his coat from his forearm and draped it over her.

"I was wondering when you'd get around to doing that."

"All you have to do is ask!"

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself."

"Since when do you _let_ me?" he asked, seeming pleased that they were back to their usual bantering. "But there's a little bit of good in every bad thing, I suppose. It's just one of so many things you've pounded into my thick skull these last few years."

"Glad I'm good for something around this pit you call a company."

He chuckled, and his fingers reached around the edge of the bed, inviting. Riza grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Why did it always seem as if _he_ were the victim in these sorts of situations?

His handsome face grew serious just once more for the evening, begging her to listen. Riza squeezed his hand again in encouragement. Whatever he wanted to say was obviously important. "Just…please don't forget that if you want so badly to protect me, I'm allowed to protect you too."

"I'll try."


	19. XIX The Old, New, Borrowed and Blue

**XIX "The Old, New, Borrowed and Blue."**

It was nearly midwinter before the plans were set. The wedding wasn't until March; Roy's mother had been taking care of most of the arrangements and Riza's dress was not due to be stitched until well after the holidays. She moved into Roy's apartment with a promise that they would find a house as soon as finances were stable. Their license was signed and approved. There was nothing to do but lay naked in each others' arms on late weekend mornings, giggling like 16 year-olds and tracing the frost patterns on the window.

It was nice to feel young again.

The fateful morning came around without much incident. Riza snuck away before dawn had even broken; Roy awoke alone and feeling out-of-place, occupied with a single thought.

A bride has all the counsel in the world before she's given away. The groom, who takes, receives no pity.

Roy moped around and, having nothing to do, picked at his breakfast and played with the dog. He was still tired from the bachelor's party last night, more from trying to avoid people's attempts to get him to loosen up than celebrating his last night being a singleton. He hadn't really been single for ten years, and as of yet he'd never regretted a moment.

Well, almost.

Havoc arrived ten minutes late to pick him up, grumbling vaguely about a cattle driver on the road, and Roy's unsettled stomach took it as an omen. There were ten thousand different little things he could think of that might upset. He pushed the unease down. Nothing was going to go wrong. He stood around feeling dumb and deaf, saying hello to old friends and more recent ones. His father arrived with his handmade wedding bands. The chairs were set. Coffee was brewing somewhere nearby, and just the smell of it put his nerves in an even worse state.

The largest church in the area was hosting, but there were still people standing in the isles. Blue and black uniforms dominated the grid, faces he'd never seen before wished him luck. Riza's aunt had accepted her invitation and said hello, although she seemed to feel awkward. The only one who seemed to understand his nervousness was Denny Blotch, who'd been married three years earlier and had a kid on the way. Gracia would have happily given him the hug he wanted so badly, but she was off counseling Riza, or at least helping her struggle into her dress.

He did, however, get a very familiar slap to the face. It smarted worse than he remembered.

"Hello there, Ms Rockbell. Wonderful to see you made it."

Winry, now almost as tall as Riza and as aggressive as ever, scowled and stalked off. Her grandmother apologized for her, trailing a thirteen year-old boy he'd never seen before.

Alphonse Elric, the younger brother of Full Metal. Roy had gotten a letter from Rizenbul when they'd found him, and knew the boy harbored no memory of him or Riza. It was certainly a pity, because Al had always seemed to like the military a lot more than Edward ever had.

He'd been told enough about the events three years ago, though, and asserted that he'd asked to come along to the wedding. He wanted to talk to Roy about human alchemy.

"Now's not the time," Pinako told him harshly.

"Talk to me afterwards," Roy promised the boy. If he could do anything to clarify the teen's viewpoint, it would certainly make him more comfortable than he was now, suddenly. Just thinking about anyone trying that again…it made him queasy.

It seemed an eternity before the bells in the city chimed noon. His mother ordered him into place next to Havoc (who'd taken Maes' rightful place). Alicia marched through, garbed in some ridiculous lace thing he never would have put on his own daughter, dropping daisy petals. Long seconds passed as he watched, heart pounding, waiting, watching the crowd turn down the isle expectantly.

When Riza did appear, trailed by two of her familiar but irrelevant friends, she took his breath away. Her ivory dress was extremely well-tailored for her slender frame, without excessive fluff or mind-numbing intricacy. It reflected her character, he thought, simple, stunning and elegant, but with a hint of mischievousness. Though he knew she hated white, she looked immaculate despite herself. Beneath her veil, her cornstalk-colored hair was done up in a million tiny braids and thin blue ribbons. She met his eye from a distance, held the gaze as if she didn't need to look at where she was going. As she approached him he saw that she was wearing a very familiar amber necklace, and a pair of matching earrings that he didn't recognize. Her silk-gloved hand was trembling when he took it, though he'd thought she looked very composed. Was it the attention, he wondered, or the anticipation?

"You look absolutely amazing," he whispered to her, after the vows and the kiss and the cheers, and she blushed deeply. Was she being self-conscious, thinking so little of herself that she hadn't believed that already? Or perhaps, again, she was just embarrassed at all the attention—that would be just as much like her.

One would have thought that after all the stress over the vows, the reception would be easy. Not so.

First were the photos, which were an absolute pain. He'd hated to smile _before_ he'd met the photographer his parents had hired. Friend after friend insisted on one more, after the official album shots…they took almost two hours. If he hadn't had a very lovely and equally irritated wife in his arms, he might have killed someone.

Then the bouquet toss…Winry caught it, and looked just about as shocked as her grandmother.

At some point at the reception between food and more food and a session of steal-the-bride, Roy managed to track down Alphonse, pull him outside to somewhere solitary and have a word with him about human alchemy. He'd learned quite a bit since the revolution, though his court-order had taken away his license to practice.

"You don't think I can bring my brother back," the boy said, looking downtrodden.

"I don't think alchemy is going to help you do it," Roy said. "I didn't say it might not be possible some other way. Especially if—as I believe and I know you do—that he's not dead."

"Some other way that you know of?"

"As much as I wish I did, for your sake, no."

An eighteen year-old Winry had overheard them and came ready with another smack. This time, Roy blocked it.

"You jerk, you shouldn't walk all over someone's hopes like that!"

"I'm just trying to keep your friend from doing anything dumb?" he replied. Alphonse hurriedly retreated, casting a pleading look at Winry.

She tried to remove herself as well, but Roy gripped her wrist. "It's about time you settled down, Ms. Rockbell," he continued. "What would your parents say about your behavior, do you think?"

"I think they'd call it just," she snarled. Her struggles were beginning to subside.

"I think they'd feel sad that you're so bitter about it, when it's not your fault," he said softly. "Let me be the guilty one, huh? I don't need extra punishment."

She clenched her jaw and glared at him.

"If I never told you I was sorry, I'm telling you now," he continued, now that he had her attention. "I almost pulled the trigger on myself back then. I didn't have the courage to stand up to my orders before it was too late…but I knew afterwards I didn't want things like that to happen anymore. I found a way to make a difference, and look what it cost me. Would you have been happier if I'd died?"

She plainly didn't know what to say to that, and shook her head.

Roy released her wrist. "Riza told me she'd confided something in you a few years ago, that she would have done anything to protect me and my goals. You probably didn't know it at the time, but that was a secret between us. She is the only one who knows what I've gone through, the guilt I've felt you're your parents and the grief I went through for Ed and Al. That woman's strength has kept me alive these last, hard years—it's why I've married her. And I think you understand that—you wouldn't be here otherwise."

Winry's face grew red, but the defiance in her eyes faded a little. Like Riza's moods, hers were often false, designed to hide a deeper feeling. Roy knew she didn't really hate him, knew that she felt he had given Edward more than another might have been able to. "I don't…not respect you for that," she said quietly, looking away. "But I get angry…when I think that we've lost him for good."

"Nothing is so lost that it can never be found," he said gently. "If that's something you can take from this day, from Riza and I, take it."

She nodded, slowly, probably thinking of the bouquet she'd caught. "I wanted to say congratulations…you both look so happy, and I'm jealous. Since Al doesn't remember, it feels like I don't have anyone to share all the amazing things I've been through. It makes me feel so lonely."

"You should try and make an effort to visit East City more often," Roy said. "We'd welcome you."

"I should, shouldn't I? I'll remember that."

Roy stood there with the girl for a moment, thinking about his words, wondering why they just seemed to come…as if somehow he felt that he'd long ago shouldered Winry's parents' duties but had never quite had the opportunity to exercise them. She went off to be by herself finally, so he shrugged the moment off and went to go have some cake.

Eventually someone struck up the band; Roy tracked down Riza and dragged her out for the obligatory first dance. Soon enough she was swept away by someone else. An hour later his second campaign to have her back drew a moment of success. The sun had already set, in progressing shades of purple and orange, and now the stars were beginning to wink to life.

Perfect timing.

"What's that grin for?" Riza loosened one of her hands and poked the dimple in his cheek.

"I'm just enjoying myself."

"Oh no, Roy Mustang, I know that mischievous look when I see it. What trick are you going to pull this time?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, _Riza_ Mustang."

Her eyes narrowed.

He laughed. "I'm just amazed at myself. I've been so on edge about today, and I was about ready to give up on it, and now just being with you turns my mood around just like that—" he snapped the fingers of his recently freed hand. The choreography had gone so well. Riza didn't even glance at the faint pencil markings on his glove.

He'd never done it at such a distance before—and for a few seconds he was afraid it hadn't worked. If he started snapping like crazy someone was going to spot him, and Riza wasn't going to sleep with him for a week (or longer, depending on the jail sentence). He drew a relieved breath when he saw the smoke trails, and a second later the first red firework burst over the reception with a gigantic snap.

The crowd sucked off a collective gasp, and began to applaud as the night sky was filled with bursts of celebrative color. Riza stared for a long moment up into the sky before she realized what he'd done.

"Roy…"

"Oh come on, I couldn't resist."

"Why does this _not_ surprise me?" She exclaimed, and surrendered into yet another tight hug. "They're amazing. Who helped you?"

"Accessory to a federal crime? I'll not reveal my sources except under pain of pain."

"I might be able to manage that."

"Not in public, you won't. You've never liked to show off."

"Pervert," she hissed, but she was laughing.

Feet sore and swollen, they sat down for the final presentations—the speeches, the toasts, the wonderfully distracting drinks. A projector began to cycle through ten years' worth of photos, many with their own back-stories and private jokes. They told a few as they felt inclined, though many were a bit more private than even the photographers had probably guessed.

_We might survive this,_ Roy thought, relieved.

As a finale, Havoc took up the microphone and cast a sly grin back to the bride and groom's table.

He and Riza looked at each other, sharing the thought: _I don't like this_.

"I think many of us here tonight have spent most of the day wondering why this didn't happen _years_ ago," the speaker began, still grinning. "And how long, exactly, we should have been wondering it. When some of us here at Headquarters got our invitations, we decided that we wanted to work up a little tribute. What we came up with really isn't ours, but we think it's an excellent story. Got the tape, Fury?"

A thumbs-up emerged briefly from the top of the sound booth.

"But before that, a little explanation is warranted, we feel. We're sure the newly-united Mustangs will be happy to hear that the air vents at headquarters have recently been soundproofed, so that any classified secrets now being discussed can't be heard in the staffroom. We don't think they realized—and understandably they were preoccupied—that we know a little more about Christmas Eve than we probably should."

"Oh _no_," Riza moaned, and buried her face in Roy's shoulder.


	20. XX Want, Need and Disregard

**XX "Want, Need and Disregard"**

It was the night before Christmas—destined to be another cold, lonely space in the lives of all soldiers present at the watch house. Outside, the wind howled against the eaves of the building, and a rare snowstorm battled its way through the sandy air. Mustang's crew had landed the 18-hour double shift, since none of them really had any other place to be.

As if to make up for the fact that no one was capable of snuggling down into a nice soft bed, there was a small party happening quietly and in uniform. There was cider, and some carefully spiked eggnog. Rounds of gifts were exchanged—small, no-effort items like desk decorations and tourist snow-globes.

Eastern amber rattled in one of Riza's boxes. "Who gave you _that_, I wonder," Havoc pressed, eyeing Roy (who shrugged him off and took another swing of his chosen poison).

"Aww, I want a necklace too," Fury teased, elbowing her.

"Look at that, she's blushing…"

"Mustang, you _stud,_ you…"

"Mine was the lapel pin," Roy put in casually, while the others poo-pooed. The pin had, in fact, been a mystery gift, perhaps even intended as a distraction. Riza pulled the stuffing out of the box, along with the necklace (it looked expensive) and shoved everything into her pocket before it could be scrutinized and second-guessed.

The fake tree rattled against the radiator and slowly smoldered, filling the room with the festive scent of burnt plastic. Badly out-of-tune carols rose from nostalgic throats, and slowly Riza sidled her way over to Roy's chosen wall.

There had been a note folded up in the necklace's box—she glanced at it briefly now. His handwriting asserted, _Let me see you put it on._

"Why do you insist on embarrassing me like that?" she asked, twisting the note and putting it back into her pocket.

"I think its fun. Cider?"

Riza accepted the plastic flume and gave up on pretense. "You must be lonely, if you're wasting money on me like this."

"I have plenty of money, but all my nights are lonely."

Sip.

"How can you be lonely in a place like this?"

"Everything gets too quiet."

Sip.

"Seriously."

"I miss you."

"I'm right here," she said. It was so obvious, but she knew what he meant. She didn't want to hear it. It was too easy to slip, to give up the game. There was too much work to do, and there was no time to be wasted stupidly playing around with sex.

But she really didn't think it was stupid. Arrogant, perhaps, and irresponsible, but not stupid.

Sip.

He chuckled and brushed her face. There he went with that touch again…it was so light, at first. Her cheek tingled in memory. "I miss _you_."

It was true she'd been less of herself lately. She was overworked, and so was he. There had been little time to sit and talk, or just to sit. They both displayed nervous tics more often than they used to, and bickered over who was responsible for _this_ pay stub or _this_ signature…

"Hey now," Breda shouted, "none of that in uniform, you two."

Roy scowled at him, snatched Riza's arm, and led her down the hall into his office. A burst of laughter behind them followed some unheard joke.

"Roy—"

"It's 'Colonel' in uniform," he replied sarcastically, drawing the shades. "Can't we ever even get a moment's peace around here?"

She took a deep breath and found some words. "We're a favorite exhibit. They see it, you know. Havoc, especially, because he's known us for so much longer. I don't think they mean it to be cruel."

"Of course they don't," he said, calmer. As if his energy had suddenly left him, he collapsed into his chair. "I'm sorry; I've been so on edge. I meant the gift as an apology…I've been hard on you lately."

"We've all been tense," she said softly coming up behind him and squeezing his shoulders though the thick material of his jacket. She wanted to touch him now, remembering those arms. It'd been years now, but seeing Roy every day kept the memories vivid, kept that wonderful tension between them. There was nothing she regretted, except—sometimes—her minimalist ways.

"I wandered down to a caravan coming in, not to long ago," he said. "I saw a vendor had that, and it reminded me of you. I don't know why. I just thought it looked like something you'd wear."

"It is—it's beautiful. Thank you. But I'm sorry; I feel terrible…I didn't know what to get you at all." That's what Riza had first meant to say, and forgotten in the midst of his jokes. She reached down and tugged at his buttons, dug underneath, hunting for his soreness in his shoulders. She'd spent fruitless hours trying to think up something meaningful and subtle, something to let him know she hadn't forgotten, even though the intensity of their flirting had fallen to almost zero.

He grunted and closed his eyes, working the heavy canvas over his shirt and letting it fall into the crevice of his chair. "Having you here is enough. You should know that."

"Why would you ever have suspected that _I_ need anything more?" she asked, teasing, working over the strings of knots. It was like retrieving beads lost in half-baked clay—difficult and with uncertain progress.

"I want to believe it."

There was a faint clunking noise, as might be made by something metal being banged against the side of an echo chamber, and they fell quiet.

"The wind," Riza shrugged, and went back to kneading his shoulders.

Roy grunted again, folded his arms on top of his desk and used them as a pillow. "When did you get so good at this?"

"If you'd known, you'd have abused your rank to get some," Riza replied in jest.

"I should just let you do all the paperwork."

"So you can relieve your stress by yelling at me for doing it wrong, you mean."

"See, this is why I never try anything. You'd be serving my head up for dinner tomorrow."

"It's no use for much else."

More faint laughter.

"I have more fun away from those clowns," he muttered, voice tight. "Nng…I think that one's been there a while."

"One would think so." Riza worked away at his back until her hands were too stiff to move. She crouched down against the back of his desk, trying to will the feeling back into her arms. It was simply impossible to relieve everything she wanted to…he was too wound up, too anxious for news of the Elric brothers, too frightened that he'd never reach his dream and would be stuck in this tiny place for the rest of his solitary life.

He watched her in silence for a while, sat back up. His shirt hung oddly from how she'd been working through the fabric. "Riza…"

"You know we can't do this," she answered. The words had been bursting to escape, because they were the right thing to say and she was always, above all, the righteous one. She couldn't let her body control her like this.

"I was going to say thank you," he said. He brushed her face again with his fingertips, knowing…

_No_. She pushed his hand away and stood. "There's only so much I can give, Colonel…"

He was too quick; he grabbed her and held her in a grip much too strong for her to break. "Just, stay here for a while. Don't run off on me again. I miss your company."

Where else was she supposed to go? Technically they were all on night duty. She couldn't run home, and she certainly didn't want to hear it from the other men. She sighed and leaned back up against his desk.

Neither of them knew what to say.

Roy stared fixedly at his hands in his lap, no doubt feeling guilty again for harrowing her. His expression said enough about his guilt to make _her_ feel bad; he couldn't help but feel what he did, and she understood loneliness well enough. She'd given into it once upon a time, when she hadn't been thinking about the future or performance reviews or rumors.

Did she honestly think he would be irresponsible enough to let his personal life get involved with that? No. She knew him well enough to be sure that wasn't something he'd do.

As if her mind had lost control, she put her arms around him and slid into his lap.

"Have you ever wondered why whenever you say no, you really mean yes?" he asked.

"All the damned time."


	21. XXI Aftermath

**XXI "****Aftermath"**

The room was occupied at first by silence, disbelieving. Someone laughed aloud, and that was the end of it…the solitary vocalization became many, and was even joined by Roy and Riza's. The red in their faces had faded a little, now that the tape had stopped.

"Oh, there's much more,"Havoc said, between fits of giggles. "Unfortunately, this _is_ a family event and as much as we'd like to share it with _everyone_ we know Riza would shoot the lot of us before we'd have time to blink. And since we've heard it, and we know the bride and groom are terribly offended at the thought of it slipping out of our hands…"

A small, padded package flew through the air and bounced off the remains of Roy's cake, spattering frosting in a two-foot radius. He couldn't help but think, _That's__ a good arm_, even as he glared in the general direction of the sound booth.

"…and since we couldn't afford to buy them anything else either, we decided to just give it back."

Then the evening was over, they said their farewells, and as Havoc went to get into the drivers' side door of the getaway vehicle, Roy grabbed him by his collar. "I swear, if you've made copies of that tape…"

"Nah. We got our laughs out of it," he said, winking. "Besides, we thought you and the missus would enjoy it as much as we have. You've got some of our commentary on it, too."

Disgusted and amused in mixed amounts, Roy dropped him. Riza hadn't spoken since the little "dedication," and as he climbed in beside her he realized her eyelids were drooping.

"What a day," she murmured, pulling off her gloves. Various ceremony-and-photos-only dress adornments littered the floor of the car already—the ensemble looked much less bulky now.

"But we did it," he told her. It felt like congratulations, just by itself. "It's only once, and you know trying to sneak away quietly this time just wasn't going to work."

"I don't think it ever has." She laid her head on his shoulder once more, seeking his warmth in an evening grown chilly. Twenty minutes down the road, both he and Riza were fast asleep, embarrassment forgotten.


	22. XXII Suite 1

**XXII "Suite 1"**

"Two hundred and thirty-three."

"You're kidding. I lost count ten minutes ago."

"These things weigh half a pound. How can _anyone_ manage to put so many bobby pins into one hairdo?"

"Don't ask me. I don't think I could have managed. And it's probably why my neck is so sore. How many ribbons?"

From where they sat on the bed in the honeymoon suite, Roy glanced over at the pile of non-hair head decorations. "eight."

"Oy."

He squeezed her shoulders. It had been a five-hour drive, and it was now about two in the morning. "You too tired, or are you up for a little number hundred and fifty-seven?"

"Oh, I can't believe you're still keeping track of _that_?"

"No. But it sounds better than 'let's get it on.'"

"Touché."

He pulled out his mental scorecard and tabulated: Riza, five hundred thousand and some odd; Roy, one hundred and sixty-two.

* * *

_Just a quick note before any poor kiddies hit that little innocent 'next chapter' bar: Chapter 23 rated R, for the lemon and a few cleverly-utilized dirty words. If you don't know what a lemon is, don't read it. I don't want to be responsible for corrupting you. Notice I did not say it was NC-17—please don't get me kicked off FFnet. This is just a fair warning, so I don't offend anyone._


	23. XXIII Snowballed

_Okay, once again, lemon warning. Going back over this, I think it might actually be funnier as tape transcription, with the company's comments inserted. If I manage to think up something adequately entertaining, I'll post it as an addendum to the fic—so keep an eye out._

_So without further ado…_

**XXIII "Snowballed"**

"I think I had forgotten how good this feels," Roy said when they both paused for breath. Riza had given up on restraint far easier this time, and even now she was brushing tiny, soft kisses across his face. Her arms gripped the back of the chair for balance, which put her right up in his face. "I think you had, too, for that matter."

"How I tried," she said, but she was kidding. Her own jacket lay discarded on the floor, and with her commander's help her standard-issue mauve shirt was quickly joining it. He worked it out of her belt bit by bit, pestering her skin with the occasional brush, testing her tolerance...

She was a quiet one. Or maybe she liked the tease as much as he did. _All soldiers are masochistic_, she'd said once. They'd put each other through enough these past years to warrant the claim.

But he was feeling playful. He peeled her shirt up over her head, dislodging her hair clip and sending the carefully-preened mass into spiky disarray. The chair tipped wildly when she let go of the back, crashing and spilling the both of them onto the carpet. Riza rolled over and pinned him arms-up—a familiar move that took him by surprise anyway.

"That's more like it," he chuckled, and folded his fingers into her grip. "Don't tell me you weren't planning this…you don't wear one of those all the time."

"I do," she retorted, pushing into him with more of her weight. "As if you would know…my uniform wears oddly if I don't. The jackets weren't designed with women in mind."

"The circumstantial truth at last," he said. "It's about time someone funded my campaign for new women's uniforms."

"No miniskirts."

"Ah, but that means you agree."

"Not particularly."

"What about your current ensemble, then?"

"Oooh, if I could reach my gun right now, Roy Mustang…" But he knew she was trying not to laugh. He was adding on to the other soldiers' harassment, like prodding a sore tooth. He was the one person Riza tolerated it from, though—it was all part of the game, a tool to help remind them both that what they had was special.

_All soldiers are masochistic_._ Why else would anyone be willing to go to war?_

"I could try and get it with my teeth," he offered, lifting his head up and pressing his face into her chest. "But I can't quite reach from here."

"You are so terrible," she said, and he pictured her classic eye-roll. She let go of his arms, though, so he could send them searching for clasps like the obedient dog he was. "Come on, Mustang, you're making yourself look like some kid virgin. Front."

"Ouch." He laughed against her ribs and corrected himself. "Oh mama…"

Riza moaned softly, just audibly, her body tensing against his. Her skin flourished with goosebumps, and he wondered momentarily what he'd done. He laughed at her again—and froze.

The voice of Warrant Officer Farman, who had not been attending the party in the staffroom, came rather urgently from the other side of the door. "All you all right in there, Colonel?"

"Fine, fine, just dropped something," he responded, foot bumping against his sideways desk chair. He hissed, more urgently, "Riza, the door…I didn't lock it."

"Are you sure, Colonel?"

"As you were!"

"A—all right sir." There was a very distinct note of disbelieving, but a few seconds later Farman's footsteps faded.

"You stupid ass," she muttered, picked herself up and made for the door.

"You'll need your shirt." He sat up and moved her jacket out from under his back—those cords were incredibly uncomfortable to be pressed down on.

"I'm locking it!"

The lights went out.

"Hey!" He reached down and snapped his desk lamp on, creating an eerie half-light commonly employed in cheesy romance films everywhere.

"Have you no sense of decency?"

"I guess I'm not nearly that self-conscious," he answered, now standing. He could see Riza backlighted through the cheap white blinds, and the shadows in her curves. She hadn't changed a bit. Sensing the attention, she crossed her arms.

"You just locked the door," he pointed out, rather obviously.

"I know."

"What'd I do now?" This was no time to be playing a guessing game. Why did women seem to take so much delight in them? "Oh, for God's sake…!"

She came forward and leaned her lithe, lethal form across the corner of his desk. Her shoulders bunched as she switched the lamp back off, seeming predatory. "I thought you liked difficult women."

"There's a small contrast between difficult and impossible. Difficult is you _most_ of the time."

"I have to keep you guessing."

"So now I'm going to guess that you pull off the rest of your clothes and get over here."

She straightened and rounded a stack of paperwork, swinging her hips more than was strictly necessary. Her torso twisted in a very delicious way, though, and she knew it. Deft, clever hands snatched at the remaining buttons on his shirt, unseated it from his back.

"You are such a _vixen_."

"What better companion for a pervert?"

_Snik_went the snaps on her coattails.

"Or is this the special Christmas Eve surprise?"

"I do birthdays and bachelor parties, too."

"What about that strip show you promised me?"

"You're getting it."

"It's no fun in the dark."

"Is this dark?"

"Some of us don't have your night vision."

"Pity." She pressed up against him kissing his neck, his shoulder…but they were far from desperate or feverish gestures. She knew she had him. She'd known for _years,_ and had been playing him all this time, to an extent he was just now coming to realize. So like a woman, to save something to the point of breaking…but this had been done so spectacularly that it sent chills down his spine.

And really, between them, having just a few moments of reassurance was just fine.

"So what do you think," she asked, head tucked under his chin, "brash, or just down and dirty?"

He grinned. "It would be so very traditional to fuck the commander on his desk, wouldn't it?"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth!"

"I can do other things with it," he said, nipping at her ear (a little too sharply).

She protested and held up a finger to his mouth. "Hey, what were our two rules, again?"

"Yeah, your thing with biting… But don't worry; I can break _both_ of those rules on my desk, too."

"Oh?"

"Don't ask how."

"'Cause it'd be a lie," she said, and she was right. But he didn't have to acknowledge that he was afraid of offending her. Instead, he just chuckled and slid his fingers under her belt.

The contents of his desk scattered; executive fountain pens, plastic paperclip sorters and drifts of paper fell to the floor in a minor blizzard and lay forgotten until the morning. Nobody was getting any work done tonight anyway—they were probably trying to figure out what was going on in his office, but at the moment he didn't care.

"I don't get to be on top this time, either?" He asked, fake-pleading, wanting some witty response.

"This is the only time I get a little control over you," she retorted. Every small shift in her movement made him want her and get it over with, as if the world was coming to an end and there was nothing for it.

She lowered her face again and kissed him deeply, for minutes on end. Roy began to forget himself, that there was anything he needed or wanted that she wasn't giving him. This was passion, fully expressed, wanting and restraint tied together and indefinable. _I'm not naturally a passionate person,_ Riza had said to him so many times._ Passion isn't inherent to a masochist_.

If that was true, her feelings for him must have been truly monumental. _I've done her wrong_, he thought in his vague terms, palms of his hands flat against her skin, _to treat her like such a convenience item._

But had he, really? As an underling she was invaluable to him. As an officer she was good to the last moment, incredibly faithful, silently amused as if she knew this constant craving he had for her. Why had she let herself go tonight?

It was Christmas, the holiday of giving. But no, it was more than that—Christmas is a celebration of _for_giving. All that she could not express in words she was lavishing on him now. Not because she felt it was necessary, but because it was hers to give—he was sure of that.

_I didn't know what to get you_. This was more than enough.

The necklace he'd bought fell against his chest, warmed by her soft skin. When had she put it on? He thought of his note, lying among the other scraps on the floor. He hadn't really meant it seriously, but he'd take it.

They made love how he'd dreamed of for so long, dignity gone but something wonderfully personal in its place. Maybe the first time, all those years ago, they'd been desperate, hurried, unsure. That had all been abandoned now. For a few minutes, an hour, here between them was an expression better than speech and all the silly little verbal games they played. It meant no more in the long run than the thousands of little looks and gestures they gave each other, but for a while it was more powerful.

The church bells struck midnight through the quiet, crystalline night. The wind howled outside and drifts of missed snow began to pile up on the window frame. They hadn't spoken for a while, bodies tangled together and clinging for warmth in the cold room.

Roy kissed the top of her head. "Guess we'll have to face up to the firing squad pretty soon. Should probably get dressed before Farman gets word of this."

"He'd have a fit," Riza agreed, and pulled away.

They'd needed that.


	24. XXIV Everything Waits

**XXIV "Everything Waits"**

"I'm going to go, sweetheart, or I'm going to be late for work," Roy whispered, kissed his wife's forehead, and left. She had been asleep since he'd gotten to the hospital this morning, and he was not surprised—whenever he managed to catch her awake, she was trying to sleep. She'd lost a lot of it recently, from worry and stress and other, more physical things. It was best that he let her get as much as she could.

A group of soldiers kidnapped him just as he was exiting the building. They'd been coming in. Colonel Maria Ross, silently elected majority speaker, said, "Roy, we heard Riza was here. Is she all right? What's happened?"

Even with all the commotion that had gone on, nobody had told them yet about the baby. He grinned. This he couldn't resist, even if it made him late.

"What's that look…?" Farman muttered, under his breath.

Roy happily interrupted. "Riza'll be out of here in a few days, I think. She's doing better than she was."

"What happened?" Hughey pressed. The others muttered their own request along those lines.

Roy turned back toward the building and waved for them to follow. He led them through the reception area and, instead of directly into the maternity ward, through the inpatient hallway and around to the back of the nursery.

"I don't like that expression on his face," Ross murmured to the others, who muttered back their assent.

"What, you think he's trying to trick us?" Denny said dismissively. He had figured it out and was playing along. Roy knew he'd been to this area of the hospital many more times than anyone else, what with his two sets of twins. He had another (single) one on the way, Gracia had told him, as he rolled his eyes.

"Five boys younger than five years old…I think I would have given up after the second pair," Riza had said, not managing to suppress a shudder. Roy had laughed at her, but silently agreed. He had never managed to see how some people _liked_ that kind of torture

It had been hard enough to get one, in their case. Riza'd been taking military-issue birth control hormones since she'd first started maturing (it was required of all women in uniform, for undefined but easily-guessable reasons), and her doctor had been concerned about their effect on her fertility. It had taken almost a year of careful timing to conceive—a year that had begun to seem frantic when Roy'd realized that he was rounding off to forty. Before too long he'd be too old to feel comfortable with having to raise young kids, and in a few more Riza wouldn't be capable.

Taking it slow had its consequences, particularly in the birth bed. It had been an extremely difficult overnight labor. Mom hadn't gotten any rest and neither had he, and he'd missed his entire morning shift at work to be with her. Riza was exhausted and not healing as fast as the doctors had hoped, though thankfully she hadn't been in much danger.

"Once more," he told the nurse on duty, jerking a thumb behind him at the crowd. She laughed and ducked into the nursery.

Havoc, who'd noticed the sign over the door, said, "Boy or girl?"

"Boy," Roy answered. "We knew that, though. Riza had some special tests run…they like to do them on women that aren't fairly young, to make sure everything's all right."

"But everything turned out fine?" Ross asked. "Oh, what am I saying, of course it did. When was all this?"

"Just about forty-eight hours ago. He's about two weeks early, but they're telling me he's in perfect health. He wasn't due until the twentieth, but I think he was more prepared for it than we were." Roy shook his head. "Fourteen hours through the middle of the night and I was about ready to give up on the whole business."

"Fourteen hours? Damn," Denny interjected, sounding somewhat appalled. To each his own, Roy thought. "That must've been hard on the lady."

"She's not been terribly happy with the arrangement, but she's been more agreeable for the last day or so," Roy said, for a round of laughs.

"Man, I'd've hated to be you these last couple of days. When Riza got pissed off around _me_ I ran," Breda said, and they all laughed again.

"Well lucky for you she's not in much shape for chasing at the moment," Roy told him.

"Look at that, it's a sweet little miracle come to visit!" It was the first time Armstrong had spoken today, and he still pulled off the sparkle effect just fine. "I remember my sister's little ones…got a chance to go see them a few months ago, proud additions to the family…"

The nurse, slightly taken aback (as people so often were by Armstrong), stopped and let the door swing back toward her. By some amazing, probably newly-developed-parental instinct, Roy grabbed it. She smiled, embarrassed, and handed the babe off to his father. She told him, "We had to finish up the birth certificate information, so we got a peek at his eyes this morning. They're black."

"Not much doubt who his father is, is there?" Ross contributed, moving in to get a closer look. "I've always been told you can't tell who someone's going to look like when they're a baby, but _hell—_"

"Maybe it's just that our dear old Colonel always ends up looking like an infant," Breda suggested, to another laugh at their former commander's scowl.

"I think I've heard that joke about fifteen times now. My wife loves it," he grumbled, but he'd learned to read it as a backhanded compliment nevertheless. The baby had been awakened by the noise and was squirming in his arms. He was so tiny that Roy still had trouble believing he was really human.

"How's the dog going to take this, do you think?" Fury asked.

"Well, he's getting pretty old now…but he's been incredibly protective of Riza these last few months. He'd growl when I'd get near her sometimes."

"Seems about right. Everyone seems to think it's the man's fault…" Denny rolled his eyes.

It had obviously been part of a larger argument, because Fury turned to him and said "It's a statistical fact that men in the military tend to have fewer daughters and a higher incidence of identical twins, while women in the same occupation see little or no difference from the norm—"

"That's _enough_, you two," Ross growled, and they both shut up. She turned back and said sweetly, "Can I hold him?"

Being that she a woman, Roy was slightly more inclined to trust her with his son…but he had been having trouble trusting his own _parents_, who'd come specifically to help out. He surrendered his armful with extreme reluctance.

Ross stared down in wonder at the child, probably feeling jealous, if he knew her. "You didn't tell us…have you named him yet?"

"We've been arguing about it for months, but we finally decided on Peter yesterday." It was probably why the dog had been so upset at him last night, because he'd won for once.

"'Scuse me, Mr. Mustang?" A rounds nurse who had passed by earlier came from down the hall. "Your wife's awake. She wants to see the baby…and she was very specific about you accompanying him."

_Damn that stupid table clock._ "Guess I'll go special delivery. Ladies, to my wife…"

"Who's a lady?" Breda demanded.

"Call me an infant and you inspire revenge." Roy sidestepped and took off down the hall. He managed to get through the door and close it before anyone caught up.

Riza was sitting up in bed with her hands in her lap. Her face looked as cross as she could possibly have managed.

"Uh, you have visitors?" he tried, feigning innocence.

"Why aren't you at work? How many times have I _insisted_ that you stop coming to see me if it's going to make you late?"

"Actually, if it weren't for said visitors I would have made it," he said, leaning his weight against the door. "I was actually out the door before they confronted me. It's amazing how people worry when they hear someone's in the hospital."

"Who called in the cavalry?" she sighed, somehow knowing just by the look on his face.

"I don't know…probably Gracia. Can I let them in? Only I'm kind of afraid of Ross and Armstrong trying to make a break for it and I _really_ don't feel like having to track down our son."

"You can let them in only because I think I look immaculate right now," she said dryly. She'd been self-conscious lately, enough so that Roy knew she'd be back to her pre-childbirth proportions in no time.

"You look beautiful."

"Yeah, right."

He twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door. As the others stopped arguing and tumbled in, he went to her bedside, smoothed down her hair, and kissed her goodbye. "I'll be back for lunch."

"I just bet you will," she said dryly. "_Go to work_."

"'S ma'am!"


	25. XXV My Mystery Companion

**XXV "My Mystery Companion"**

Though Riza had done her dutiful best to acquire more comfortable seats, the tickets for the nearest train to Central had been scarce. They couldn't buy out the compartment by themselves, to have the privacy that as officers they usually were provided. That last call from Hughes had been deeply troubling. Everything just felt _wrong_, and she didn't know why. Roy was worried too, though he was trying hard not to show it. He knew it made her twice as tense. Three hours into the ride a businessman joined them; Riza had not particularly wanted to sit next to her commander on this trip, but she felt more awkward beside the stranger and switched sides of the car.

They conversed with their company for a while, but the topics felt forced and false. Eventually they settled into the fact that it was a two day trip to central, and they were going to simply get tired of trying to talk. Roy wanted news so desperately that she could almost smell it on him, and as such he was distracted and not much of the conversationalist she usually relied on him to be.

Their compartment was not one supplied with cots, and the benches grew increasingly uncomfortable. Riza fidgeted frequently, wanting to jump up and relieve her cramps, but struggling to walk around on the swaying train was tiring and she couldn't afford to feel too exhausted right now. Eventually their companion lay down on his side, drew his coat over his head and slept. Relieved and knowing that Roy wouldn't admonish her for acting out of place if no one else was paying attention, Riza slouched and splayed her legs out across the creaking wooden floor.

Roy drifted off too, eventually. He'd been writing in his little black journal for an hour, but about midnight his arms started to droop. The book and the pen dropped into his lap, his head fell against the window, and he was gone.

She couldn't help but watch him. The only time he looked relaxed anymore was when he was asleep, slumped over his desk on late nights, too exhausted to keep working. She would walk in, drape his discarded jacket over his shoulders and finish up his reports and his paperwork. He never said thank-you—he didn't have to. It was satisfying in some strange way just to be around, to guard his dreams.

His mouth hung open just a little. Riza felt embarrassed for noticing, almost as though he would have been mad at her. It was cute, though. That innocence was one she missed.

_Screw 'in uniform,'_ she thought, and laid her head down on his shoulder. It was just the right height to use as a pillow. She was tired too, but still wound up from their hasty departure. As a result she drifted in and out of sleep.

She'd gotten about an hours' worth when she awoke to find that her head had slipped down onto Roy's chest. At some point he'd shifted his shoulder and put his arm around her waist. It was still there, fingers locked securely in her belt loop. For comfort's sake she hugged him back, so she could hunch without getting stiff shoulders or falling down into his lap. That wouldn't be looked upon very well.

The speaker in the hallway was playing some sort of lounge music; the lyrics drifted through the thin door of the compartment and she listened idly as she sought for sleep.

_What with all my expectations long abandoned_

_And the future I no longer saw my hand in_

_How I found you is beyond my understanding_

_My stunning mystery companion_

_I know that you don't want to be out here forever on this floor_

_Or live among the boxes where all my past lives have been stored_

_Maybe you're thinking of some place with a garden by the sea_

_Where we could slow down and you could put a little more work in on me._

_What with all my expectations long abandoned_

_My solitary nature not withstanding_

_You're the one that pulled me out of that crash landing_

_My stunning mystery companion_

_Right now I can't quite remember the cause of all my tears_

_I hear you laughing, somehow the past just disappears_

_Maybe you were joking when you said you'd take me for ten years and no more_

_Maybe you'd have had the best of me, but you can take another ten years and be sure_

_What with all my expectations long abandoned_

_And a life that just gets more and more demanding_

_There's no doubt that you're the reason I'm still standing_

_My stunning mystery companion_

She smiled to herself.

"Kind of fitting, isn't it?" Roy muttered, and she jumped. She hadn't realized he'd been awake. He looked down at her and smiled. "Sorry. It's hard to sleep this way. Never been able to do it, really."

"I'll get off," she said, not wanting to.

He squeezed her. "It's all right. I like it."

"It's a little unbefitting," she pointed out. Why was she playing the devil's advocate to _herself_?

"You didn't have to come with me at all," he replied. "If you're going to spend the time, let's at least take the whole nine yards."

"You are so manipulative," she sighed, but settled back down. It had been about ten months since the incident at Christmas, and they'd drifted apart again…this felt good.

He must have thought she'd fallen back asleep, because she sensed him watching her. His shoulders shifted and she felt his lips on her forehead. Almost instinctively she raised her face and kissed him. It felt like too good an opportunity to pass up.

She put her head back down on his chest and did try to catch up on her rest. The rhythms of his heart and lungs was meditative, comforting. He started to hum that song, looking out to the point on the horizon where the sun was starting to rise. He caught himself and chuckled. "Haven't heard that one in a few years. I understand it a little better now, I think."

"Oh, come off it."

"What, so if you mean a lot to me I'm not allowed to tell you? Not even when there's nobody else around?"

"I wear a little reminder every day around my neck."

"Hearing it again can't hurt."

"Mmn." She immediately felt guilty for giving him a hard time. It was good to have him admit how he needed her, to surrender the fact that they had a relationship—no matter how unorthodoxly it functioned.

"Can I ask you something personal?"

"How personal?" she countered, knowing he was going to ask her anyway.

"Have you ever just wanted to run away? You know…just abandon all this hopeless business, elope somewhere far away and buy a house and have kids?"

"That's a lot of personal questions."

"Do you? If you want the truth, I spend a lot of time thinking about it myself. How long have we been together, Riza? Really together? Almost six years—don't you ever get impatient for something more?"

_O-kay, honesty time_. She gritted her teeth and confessed. "Yes, I do. But I realize it's impractical. Whatever happened to that all-powerful motivation to get to the top?"

"Maes told me this would happen. I'd find a woman and give up. He even predicted that it would be you."

"You don't really mean that."

He sighed. "I've been giving it a lot of thought. Have you realized that by the time I get anywhere by my methods it's going to be real late for us? I want children; I suppose that's selfish, but…lately I've gotten to thinking that it isn't working the way we've played it. We're too _nice_ about it. The system isn't designed for _nice_."

"We've always been trying to change that. We've always known it wasn't going to be easy."

"I'm just thinking now that we've lost and we don't know it yet. We've been outplayed, outmaneuvered. I keep losing my chess games, falling asleep trying to finish those stupid reports that no one ever reads anyway. I don't think I was designed for the military. I'm a scientist…an alchemist…I have no business dealing with other people's lives. I just want my own."

"I'll tell you what," she said. "If you show me definite proof that you're convinced it's what you want, I'll give it some more thought."

He said nothing more for some time, and the countryside faded into an anonymous town. The train slowed, stopped, and the conductor came by to retrieve their sleeping companion. Riza gave up on sleep and went to go get some breakfast, leaving Roy to his thoughts again.

She returned with two plates, and after a moment's hesitation sat back down beside him.

"Figured you'd be back to your old solemn self," he muttered, taking the food with sufficient gratitude. "You don't want a seat to yourself?"

"It's all right. How much time do we usually get to ourselves like this?"

"Close to none."

"Exactly. Eat." She pushed her fork into his face, loaded with a slice of pear.

"It's things like this that made me think about what a wonderful mother you'd be," he said dryly, and took a bite.

"And you'd be a terribly irresponsible father," she countered. It wasn't true, though. He was much too affectionate to be so inattentive. Realistically, she could see him being a husband, being the father of her children. She pushed visions of the future away, though, in light of Roy's sloppily attempted return gesture. "Feed yourself."

_Someday,_ she promised herself. _When we have time._


	26. XXVI Glow of Dawn

**XXVI "Glow of Dawn"**

"Seems like there's not enough hours in the night anymore, doesn't it?" Riza was standing in the doorway to the nursery, a heavy winter blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looked as tired as he felt—there were rings under her eyes, her posture was slumped, and she looked mightily sore.

Roy had been up with Peter most of the night. The infant was going through the worst of his first cold and wanted constantly to be held. He glanced out the window and saw that the sun was making a gigantic effort to launch itself over the horizon.

"And I've got a meeting in three hours," he complained, but he couldn't keep the playfully accosting tone out of his voice. Peter had finally drifted off to sleep, clutching his father's pajamas in one tiny fist. "What a life, huh? I thought this was going to be fun."

"It's going to be even more fun pretty soon," she said dryly. "It's all thanks to you I'm pregnant again. I'll be sick and grouchy, and you can miss sleep. That's fair, as far as I see it."

"Why is it always _my_ fault?" He protested, but Riza padded over and hugged him. "I suppose it is fair, in your twisted way. Are you getting morning sickness already?"

"First bout of it," she replied, sounding about as thrilled as Peter had been all night. "Did you get any sleep at all?"

"I think I managed to sit down and drift off for an hour or so. God, I remember when I could go three days in a row and feel fine."

"You could down five straight shots and not get a headache the next morning, too. Face it, you're an adult now."

"Dammit, why did you always keep telling me to grow up? And why'd I listen?"

She laughed and fell quiet, watching out the window as a wavy sliver of yellow peeked out from behind the distant ridge. "It's going to be a nice day, at least."

"They're all nice."


	27. XXVII All Things

**XXVII "All Things"**

"New moon," Roy said, glancing out the window. They were out beyond the city limits, and the roads weren't well-lit. The night was going to be difficult to navigate without headlights.

Not much later, Riza pulled the car off to the side of the road and killed the engine. "I think we should walk from here."

_Let's not have suspicious cars pulling up close to the führer's house before they're all set up for the party_. "Good idea."

He was nervous. It wasn't easy to admit, seeing as how he'd spent the better part of the day convincing himself that they were going to pull through this. He was too upset even to pull her into the backseat for a few minutes, to ask her to give him one more night before the world changed—or to joke about it.

He didn't know what to say at all, in fact. What last words did you give your girl to convince them you were going to come out of everything just as fine as when you went in? If he managed not to get himself killed, but got caught, he'd most certainly lose his job, and be stuck in jail for long years.

The gravel crunched like dry bread under their shoes. The absence of script between them had rarely felt so awkward. The tiny flicker in his palm cast a dim circle ahead, just light enough to make their way forward. They snuck easily past the guards, found the edge of the property wall. He studied its height and grimaced.

"I'm going to need your help getting up this thing…as usual."

"Yeah." It was the most dejected word he'd ever heard.

Roy turned around, having not quite expected her somber mood. She was always the one with the steady hands and the good aim. "What's the matter?"  
She wouldn't look at him, even as dark as it was. "Do we…have to do this?"

He'd been asking himself the same question. "You know we do."

"Somebody has to. Why does it have to be you?"

Just "you," not "we." Why was he kidding himself? She was as fretful as he was—and if the pattern meant anything she was even more so. But no, he wasn't taking her into danger this time. She'd just be another target. There was a better chance he'd get himself killed through some stupid act of bravado protecting _her_ than if she was somewhere much safer and out of his sight. "It's the most direct way," he said.

"I don't want you to."

"I know." He wanted to state all his fears, as he usually did, but it would only affirm her apprehensions and that was the last thing he wanted. He had to be the strong one this time. "Remember when you promised you'd run away with me? That's after this. We'll kill this system, we'll make it all right again, and then we'll have something for ourselves, something we've never had. That's _my_ promise."

Her hat was pulled low over her eyes, but something glistened in the dim light of his flame. Riza sniffed heavily and wiped at her face—she was crying! Startled, he went to her; she protested even as she folded up in his arms, but her hands clutched at the material of his suit as if doing so would assure that he'd never be able to go. "God…I've never been so scared…"

"Me too," he admitted, finally, and held her for a long moment. Somehow his fears always felt less when he was with her, even as now when her strength was gone.

"I love you," she said. She just threw it into his shoulder all of a sudden, sounding as though she didn't expect a response or even much of a reception, as if she'd given up hope on it. It was there, it was that same truth that she always spoke. He'd never heard her say it before. "Sometimes I wish I didn't, but I do."

"It would make things easier sometimes, wouldn't it?" he answered. He held her tighter, kissed her gently, tasting the tears still rolling down her cheeks. He didn't know how long they stood with her there, in darkness, gripping this fragile little moment for all it was worth.

Seven years, it had been, almost to the day. Seven years of luck, of honesty and of friendship, of knowing he was never alone or unwanted or unappreciated—there was nothing in the world he would have traded that for.

"It's funny," he told her, "how love transcends all time and distance just to end up where you need it the most. It can be there unseen but not unknown, without contradiction or countermand, for all things. It's been here with us all this time. It keeps me going, Riza, it really does. I love you so much, and I _thought_ I never needed to say anything about it. What a stupid arrangement, to only realize how much something's needed at the last minute, when it's too late to allay all those other fears. But we've made it this far. I'm not giving up now."

"I don't suppose you can," she said. She was looking at him now, at least, as if some burden had been lifted from the back of her neck. Starlight gave her pale skin a blue tinge, a surreal look, as if none of this was happening, and it was just some wonderful dream and horrible nightmare. "Still, I wish we could just stay here forever. That would do."

He put his hand back over her head and cradled it against his shoulder. Her breath against his neck was warm. He said, "I got to thinking not long ago that maybe with everything we do we leave a bit of ourselves behind to a different future. Those pieces of ourselves in turn leave something more—so we relive every moment of every life, past present and future, in some infinite instant in which time only seems to pass. I'm quite happy I ended up with this life, with all the choices and non-choices that brought the two of us together…but at the same time I can't help but feel that it's the only way things could have ever turned out, that we were destined for this time and place all along.

"And I think somewhere in that revelation I saw a glimpse of our future, the one that I want so badly to have: that perfect _small_ life with a family and a nine-to-five job, where I don't have to worry about much besides what's for dinner or why the dog is burying his bone instead of eating it. I'd like that."

"You seem so certain," she said, still sniffling. Mostly, though, the crying had stopped. "Roy, I don't know if I could stand to go on without you. Not after all this time, after all those promises and dreams."

"I'm always here," he told her, pressing his hand down to the left of her spine, over her fluttering heart. "No matter what else I might say, I might lie about, I'll tell you I've no intention to martyr myself. And you know I don't break promises."

"Promise me I'll see you alive out of all this," she whispered.

He pressed his forehead to hers, swept up her last tears with a thumb. Such beautiful eyes didn't deserve to look so sad. "I promise."

He didn't intend to start breaking promises now. They had gone too far for that.

He let her go then, sure that the living memory of all their precious moments would continue, having always happened and always ready to be, forever. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we go find that life we've always wanted."

She nodded, wiped again at her damp face. Without a word she knelt next to the wall and knitted her fingers.

Roy leaned down and kissed her again, set her cap back down lightly over her eyes. He pushed away his doubts that it would be the last chance he'd get to do that. He'd promised, after all. Twenty feet provided him a running start, and his right foot caught her sure hands, and she helped him fly.


	28. Afterword

**_Afterword_****_ by the Author:_**

_It's been a couple of harrowing weeks to get this fic finished. I much enjoyed the praise I got, and thanks so much for reading it—you guys are my inspiration. Keep an eye out for an add-on, the transcription of that Christmas Eve tape. I'm not sure when I'll get it out.  
_

_Credit to Jackson Browne for the song in Ch. 25: "My Stunning Mystery Companion." Winamp reads my mind sometimes.__  
_

_Also, it's come to my attention that a few things need to be addressed. No, I never said Ed was dead. I just implied that Alphonse wants to attempt human alchemy to bring him back, since Ed's gone beyond the Gate and human alchemy is the only KNOWN way to bring someone back from beyond the Gate. If you've seen the end of the series, you know that Al was talking about re-learning alchemy to bring Ed back. Maybe that's what the movie (Summer 2005) is supposed to be about._

_I've left certain things unexplained or un-ended for a reason. But yes, this is the end of my story. If you don't like it, tough. Write your own fic. As if you're particularly interested in why, I'll follow up with a livejournal entry I wrote about a week ago:_

_"I've always seen Roy/Riza as a very straightforward relationship, with a long untold history largely personal and unimportant to the larger plot. (As a side note, I'm probably one of few people who is glad there is not more of their story told in the series.) I still feel innocent romance, rather than either Shakespearean or the gratuitous, is the best kind. It's what most of us experience, which is why it relates so well._

___"There's so much degraded crap that you see these days even published, and despite how I encourage those of us who put the effort in even if our writing isn't the best, I have to say that if you write, please do so by asking the question 'what if?' and answering it with more than a pretty picture all wrapped up and explained. A piece of writing is designed to let the reader think and imagine. It is what inspires more questions, poses what will inspire another, in an endless chain that cannot be broken._

___"And so, I think, the terminus of a story should not be surrounded and boxed with a bow on, to be shaken and guessed at and eventually known in its entirety. That's not interesting; that's religion. I want my story to spring out into a million directions that I won't ever know, because they all reside in the minds of the readers. Stories are not written to sell. They are written because they will be told."_

_****__

* * *

_

_****__Thank you once again for reading. Every reader has an impact on how I write, and I want you all to feel as if you've made a difference to me. It's an unbelievably great feeling I get when I see the bot-mailer in my inbox. If you are curious about me, or if you'd like to be my friend, my Livejournal username is ItsumademoOtaku and my AIM is Dragonsblood5. See you around!_


End file.
